University of Virginia Library

1.

Now Curses on you all! ye vertuous Fools,
Who think to fetter free-born souls,
And tie 'em to dull Morality, and rules.
The Sagarite be damn'd, and all the Crew
Of learned Ideots, who his steps pursue;
And those more silly Proselytes, whom his fond precepts drew.
Oh! had his Ethicks been with their wild Author drown'd,
Or a like Fate with those lost Writings found,
Which that grand Plagiary doom'd to fire,
And made by unjust Flames expire:
They ne're had then seduc'd Mortality,
Ne're lasted to debauch the World with their lewd Pedantry.
But damn'd, and more (if Hell can do't) be that thrice cursed name,
Who e're the Rudiments of Law design'd;
Who e're did the first Model of Religion frame,
And by that double Vassalage enthrall'd Mankind,
By nought before, but their own Pow'r, or Will confin'd:
Now quite abridg'd of all their Primitive Liberty,
And slaves to each capricious Monarch's Tyranny.
More happy Brutes! who the great Rule of Sense observe,
And ne're from their first Charter swerve.
Happy! whose lives are meerly to enjoy,
And feel no stings of Sin, which may their bliss annoy.
Still unconcern'd at Epithets of ill, or good,
Distinctions, unadult'rate Nature never understood.

2.

Hence hated Virtue from our goodly Isle,
No more our joys beguile;
No more with thy loath'd presence plague our happy state,
Thou enemy to all, that's brisk, or gay, or brave or great.
Be gone with all thy pious meagre Train,
To some unfruitful, unfrequented Land,
And there an Empire gain,
And there extend thy rigorous command:
There where illib'ral Nature's niggardise
Has set a Tax on Vice.
Where the lean barren Region does enhance
The worth of dear Intemperance,
And for each pleasurable sin exacts excise.
We (thanks to Fate) more cheaply can offend,
And want no tempting Luxuries,
No good convenient sinning opportunities;
Which Nature's bounty could bestow, or Heaven's kindness lend.
Go follow that nice Goddess to the Skies,
Who heretofore disgusted at increasing Vice,
Dislik'd the World, and thought it too profane,
And timely hence retir'd, and kindly ne're return'd again.
Hence to those Airy Mansions rove,
Converse with Saints, and holy folks above;
Those may thy presence woo,
Whose lazy ease affords them nothing else to do:
Where haughty scornful I,
And my great Friends will ne're vouchsafe thee company.
Thou'rt now an hard, unpracticable good,
Too difficult for flesh and blood:
Were I all soul, like them, perhaps I'd learn to practise thee.

3.

Vertue! thou solemn grave impertinence,
Abhorr'd by all the Men of Wit, and Sense:
Thoudamn'd Fatigue! that clogst life's journey here,
Though thou no weight of wealth or profit bear;
Thou purling fond Green-sickness of the mind!
That mak'st us prove to our own selves unkind,
Whereby we Coals, and Dirt for diet chuse,
And, Pleasur's better food refuse.
Curst Jilt! that lead'st deluded Mortals on,
Till they too late perceive themselves undone,
Chous'd by a Dowry in reversion.
The greatest Votary, thou e 'e could boast,
(Pity so brave a Soul was on thy service lost;
What Wonders he in wickedness had done,
Whom thy weak pow'r could so inspire alone?)
Tho long with fond amours he courted thee,
Yet dying, did recant his vain Idolatry:
At length, though late, he did repent with shame,
Forc'd to confess thee nothing, but an empty name.
So was that Lecher gull'd, whose haughty love
Design'd a Rape on the Queen Regent of the Gods above:
When he a Goddess thought he had in chace
He found a gaudy vapour in the place,
And with thin Air beguil'd his starv'd embrace.
Idly he spent his vigour, spent his blood,
And tyr'd himself t'oblige an unperforming Cloud.

4.

If Humane kind to thee e're Worship paid;
They were by ignorance misled,
That only them devout, and thee a Goddess made.
Known haply in the Worlds rude untaught infancy,
Before it had out-grown its childish innocence,
Before it had arriv'd at sense,
Or reach'd the Man-hood, and discretion of Debauchery;
Known in those antient goodly duller times,
When crafty Pagans had engross'd all crimes:
When Christian Fools were obstinately good,
Nor yet their Gospel-freedom understood.
Tame easie Fops! who could so prodigally bleed,
To be thought Saints, and dye a Calendar with with red:
No prudent Heathen e're seduc'd could be,
To suffer Martyrdom for thee:
Only that arrant Ass whom the false Oracle call'd Wise
(No wonder if the Devil utter'd lies)
That sniveling Puritan, who spite of all the mode
Would be unfashionably good,
And exercis'd his whining gifts to rail at Vice:
Him all the Wits of Athens damn'd,
And justly with Lampoons defam'd:
But when the mad Fanatick, could not silenc'd be
From broaching dang'rous Divinity;
The wise Republick made him for prevention die,
And sent him to the Gods, and better company.

5.

Let fumbling Age be grave, and wise,
And Vertue's poor contemn'd Idea prize,
Who never knew, or now are past the sweets of Vice;
While we whose active pulses beat
With lusty youth, and vigorous heat,
Can all their Beards, and Morals too despise,
While my plump veins are fill'd with lust and blood;
Let not one thought of her intrude,
Or dare appoach my brest,
But know 'tis all possest
By a more welcome guest:
And know, I have not yet the leisure to be good.
If ever unkind destiny
Shall force long life on me;
If e're I must the curse of dotage bear;
Perhaps I'll dedicate those dregs of Time to her,
And come with Crutches her most humble Votary.
When sprightly Vice retreats from hence,
And quits the ruins of decayed sense;
She'l serve to usher in a fair pretence,
And varnish with her name a well-dissembled impotence,
When Ptisick, Rheums, Catarrhs, and Palsies seize,
And all the Bill of Maladies,
Which Heaven to punish over-living Mortals sends;
Then let her enter with the numerous infirmities,
Her self the greatest plague, which wrinkles, and grey hairs attends.

6.

Tell me, ye Venerable Sots, who court her most,
What small advantage can she boast,
Which her great Rival hath not in a greater store ingrost.
Her boasted calm, and peace of mind
In Wine, and Company we better find,
Find it with Pleasure too combin'd.
In mighty Wine, where we our senses steep,
And Lull our Cares, and Consciences asleep:
But why do I that wild Chimæra name?
Conscience! that giddy airy Dream,
Which does from brain sick heads, or ill-digesting stomachs steam.
Conscience! the vain fantastick fear
Of punishments, we know not when, nor where:
Project of crafty Statesmen to support weak Law,
Whereby they slavish Spirits awe,
And dastard Souls to forc'd obedience draw.
Grand Wheadle! which our Gown'd Impostors use,
The poor unthinking Rabble to abuse.
Scarecrow! to fright from the forbidden fruit of Vice,
Their own beloved Paradise:
Let those vile Canters wickedness decry,
Whose Mercenary tongues take pay
For what they say;
And yet commend in practice what their words deny,
While we discerning Heads, who farther pry,
Their holy Cheats defie
And scorn their Frauds, and scorn their sanctified Cajoulery.

7.

None but dull unbred Fools discredit Vice,
Who act their wickedness with an ill grace;
Such their profession scandalize,
And justly forfeit all that praise;
All that esteem, that credit, and applause,
Which we by our wise menage from a sin can raise.
A true, and brave transgressor ought
To sin with the same height of spirit, Cæsar fought:
Mean-soul'd offenders now no honours gain,
Only debauches of the nobler strain.
Vice well-improv'd yields bliss, and fame beside,
And some for sinning have been deifi'd.
Thus the lewd Gods of old did move,
By these brave methods to the seats above.
Ev'n Jove himself, the Sovereign Deity,
Father and King of all th' immortal Progeny,
Ascended to that high Degree;
By crimes above the reach of weak Mortality.
He Heav'n one large Seraglio made,
Each Goddess turn'd a glorious Punk o'th trade;
And all that Sacred place
Was fill'd with Bastard Gods of his own race:
Almighty Lech'ry got his first repute,
And everlasting Whoring was his chiefest Attribute.

8.

How gallant was that Wretch, whose happy guilt
A Fame upon the Ruins of a Temple built!
‘Let Fools, said he, Impiety alledg,
‘And urge the no great fault of Sacriledg:
‘I'll set the Sacred Pile on flame,
‘And in its Ashes write my lasting Name,
‘My name which thus shall be
‘Deathless as its own Deity.
‘Thus the vain-glorious Carian I'll out-do,
‘And Egypts proudest Monarchs too;
‘Those lavish Prodigals, who idly did consume
‘Their Lives, and Treasures to erect a Tomb,
‘And only great by being buried would become:
‘At cheaper rates than they I'll buy renown,
‘And my loud Fame shall all their silent glories drown.
So spake the daring Hector, so did Prophesie:
And so it prov'd: in vain did envious Spite
By fruitless methods try
To raze his well-built Fame, and Memory
Amongst Posterity:
The Boutefeu can now Immortal write,
While the inglorious Founder is forgotten quite.

9.

Yet greater was that mighty Emperor;
(A greater crime besitted his high Pow'r)
Who sacrific'd a City to a Jest,
And shew'd he knew the grand intrigues of humor best:
He made all Rome a Bonefire to his Fame,
And sung, and play'd, and danc'd amidst the Flame;
Bravely begun! yet pity there he stay'd,
One step to Glory more he should have made:
He should have heav'd the noble frolick higher,
And made the People on that Fun'ral pile expire
Or providently with their blood put out the Fire.
Had this been done,
The utmost pitch of glory he had won:
No greater Monument could be
To consecrate him to eternity,
Nor should there need another Herald of his praise, but me.

10.

And thou, yet greater Faux, the glory of our Isle,
Whom baffled Hell esteems its chiefest Foyl;
'Twere injury should I omit thy name
Whose Action merits all the breath of Fame.
Methinks, I see the trembling shades below
Around in humble reverence bow;
Doubtful they seem, whether to pay their Loyalty
To their dread Monarch, or to thee:
No wonder he (grown jealous of thy fear'd success)
Envy'd Mankind the honour of thy wickedness,
And spoil'd that brave attempt, which must have made his grandeur less.
How e're regret not, mighty Ghost,
Thy Plot by treach'rous fortune crost,
Nor think thy well deserved glory lost.
Thou the full praise of Villany shalt ever share,
And all will judge thy Act, compleat enough, when thou could'st dare,
So thy great Master far'd, whose high disdain
Contemn'd that Heaven, where he could not Reign,
When he with bold Ambition strove
T'usurp the Throne above,
And led against the Deity an armed Train,
Tho from his vast designs he fell,
O're-power'd by his Almighty Foe,
Yet gain'd he Victory in his overthrow:
He gain'd sufficient Triumph, that he durst Rebel,
And 'twas some pleasure to be thought the great'st in Hell.

11.

Tell me, you great Triumvirate, what shall I do
To be illustrious as you?
Let your examples move me with a gen'rous fire,
Let them into my daring thoughts inspire
Somewhat compleatly wicked, some vast Gyant-crime,
Unknown, unheard, unthought of by all past and present time.
'Tis done, 'tis done; Methinks, I feel the pow'rful charms,
And a new heat of sin my spirit warms;
I travel with a glorious mischief, for whose birth,
My Soul's too narrow, and weak Fate too feeble to bring forth.
Let the unpitied Vulgar tamely go,
And stock for company, the wild Plantations down below:
Such their vile Souls for viler Barter sell,
Scarce worth the damning, or their room in Hell.
We are his Grandees, and expect as much preferment there,
For our good Service, as on Earth we share.
In them sin is but a meer privative of good,
The frailty, and defect of flesh and blood:
In us 'tis a perfection, who profess
A studied, and elaborate wickedness.
We are the great Royal Society of Vice,
Whose Talents are to make discoveries,
And advance Sin like other Arts, and Sciences.
'Tis I the bold Columbus only I,
Who must new Worlds in Vice descry,
And fix the pillars of unpassable iniquity.

12.

How sneaking was the first debauch that sin'd
Who for so small a Crime sold humane kind!
How undeserving that high place,
To be thought Parent of our sin, and race,
Who by low guilt our Nature doubly did debase!
Unworthy was he to be thought
Father of the great first born Cain, which he begot;
The noble Cain, whose bold, and gallant act
Proclaim'd him of more high extract:
Unworthy me,
And all the braver part of his Posterity.
Had the just Fates design'd me in his stead;
I'd done some great, and unexampled deed:
A deed, which should decry
The Stoicks dull Equality,
And shew that sin admits transcendency:
A deed, wherein the Tempter should not share
Above what Heav'n could punish, and
above what he could dare.
For greater crimes than his I would have fell,
And acted somewhat, which might merit more than Hell.