University of Virginia Library

The Wicked like small Stars in number rise,
And spread the Earth as th'other do the Skies;
But Vertue rarely Commet like appears,
Whose flaming Lustre fills the World with Fears,
All gaze with Wonder at the blazing Sight,
But dread the Streams of its diffusive Light,
Lest the bright Object that their Eyes admire,
To scourge their Sins, should set the World on Fire;
Thus grow concern'd the Prodigy's so near,
And wish it sunk beneath the Hemisphere.
Just so the Wicked (who by means obscure,
Advance themselves to Riches and to Pow'r,
Sparing no shameful villanous Device
To heap up Wealth and propagate their Rise)
Gaze at those Men like Monsters who disdain,
To sully their more righteous Souls for Gain.
And fearful of those Merits they admire,
Against the Virtuous and the Just conspire.
Dreading if Men of Conscience should prevail,
That all their wicked Traps and Plots would fail,
And that themselves, as they deserve, should be
Expos'd to publick Shame and Infamy,
And fall in spite of Craft, when once accus'd,
Beneath the Rage of those they'd long abus'd,
Thus Crowds of Knaves the honest few o'erthrow.
And by the dint of number keep 'em low,
With Clouds of Calumnies eclipse their Fame,
And falsely brand 'em with an odious Name,
Teach the vile Rabble, those unthinking Slaves,
By paultry Libels to mistake the Knaves,
And judge them honest who betray their Trust,
Whilst Men of Morals, truly wise and just,
Shall bear that Scandal which their Foes deserve,
And so at once be crush'd and doom'd to starve.

As for the Fair, when they are doubly blest,
And by a Miracle divine, prove chast,
Yet want that mercenary varnish'd Gold,
To add a Lustre to their beauteous Mold;
No wonder they should unregarded live
In a base World where none by Vertue thrive;
For Women hate to see themselves outdone,
And envy all Perfections but their own,
She that enjoys more Vertue than the rest,
Is sure to live by her own Sex opprest,
Backbiting Scandals on her Charms they'll throw,
And join to keep her Reputation low.

Men, when inclin'd to marry, look around,
And like her best where most is to be found;
Virtue and Beauty answer not their end,
The Money'd Helpmate proves the surest Friend,
And she that wants it, tho her Charms are great,
Must linger out her days beneath the Fate
Of an unmarry'd Life, or what is worse,
Become some doating crazy Leacher's Nurse,
Spread Plaisters for his Gout, and punish'd be,
With fumbling Love and fiery Jealousy;
Or else become some petty Tradesman's Wife,
To lead a wretched and a slavish Life,
For e'ery Fool, lest very poor or old,
His Int'rest courts and weds alone for Gold;
Therefore the Dame with Wit and Vertue blest,
Altho divinely fair and truly chast,
Yet if her Charms no Fortune can produce,
And she wants Gold which e'ery Man pursues,
She still may live if modest she will prove,
A Beauteous Stranger to the Joys above,
For Death's Embrace her Moles and Dimples save,
And with her Virgin Flow'r perfume her Grave;
The Great adore no Charms, no Beauty mind,
But such as will be conquer'd and be kind;
If she'll no Harlot be, but scorns the Guilt,
The World will swear at random, she's a Jilt;
None will her Vertue e'er the more admire.
But rail because she fustrates their Desire.

Therefore since those that should Example give,
Pursue their Lusts, and like Infernals live,
And erring Numbers thro their want of Sence,
Give Knaves and Blockheads the Preheminence,
Virtue may hope to be futurely blest,
But must on Earth live injur'd and opprest.