University of Virginia Library

For other Faults some little may be said,
The Man of Pleasure is by Sense betray'd;
By beauteous Looks the Am'rous are undone,
While native Frailty helps their Ruin on.
Delicious Morsels court the Glutton's Taste,
And he offends at the luxurious Feast.
The sparkling Glass allures the Drunkard's Eye,
It warms his Blood and lifts his Spirits high;
He drinks, grows mad, becomes a guilty Soul,
Deceiv'd by the inebriating Bowl.
And Cholerick Men, by Provocation fir'd,
Are with a transient Lunacy inspir'd:
In height of Rage they deal the hasty Blow,
And inadvertent strike at Friend or Foe;
Without Design a hasty Blow may kill:
The perjur'd Man's deliberately Ill.
'Tis not an inconsiderate, sudden Start,
He meditates the Mischief in his Heart:
'Tis all injurious, wicked, full of Spite,
And not one Sense regal'd with soft Delight.
So far from Pleasure is the cruel Fact,
That Nature shrinks in the detested Act.
Shews her Abhorrence, and her deep Regrets,
In trembling Agonies, and dewy Sweats.
But the bold Sinner scorns to quit the Field,
Resolv'd he swears, and Nature's forc'd to yield.
Affronted Conscience too retires to Rest,
And sleeps unactive in his guilty Breast.
Till Death or some kind Monitor, like you,
Shall with strong Hand the dismal Scene renew,
Shall sting his Bosom with unwonted Pain,
And make him wish for Innocence again.