 | Wishes to a godson |  |
36
On Honour.
Far from the throng'd luxurious Town,Lives an Inchantress of Renown
Call'd Honour, who by secret Charms
Pulls Swains from yielding Virgin's Arms;
For her the Husband leaves his Wife;
Despises Pleasure, Health, and Life;
For her the Trojan Refugee,
Forgot the Cave, and went to Sea:
By her the Daughter of the Sun,
Bewitching Circe, was out done;
From whose bright looks by Arts unknown,
She drew Ulysses to her own.
In bloody Fields she sits as Gay,
As other Ladies at a Play.
Whilst the wild Sparks, on which she doats,
Are Cutting one another's Throats.
37
Have all the Bones broke in their Skins;
Of her Esteem the only Token
Is, t'have Certificates th'are broken:
Which in grave Lines are cut on Stone,
And in some Church or Chappel shewn
To People, that, neglecting Pray'r,
Have time to mind who's buried there.
Till some half-witted Fellow comes,
To Copy what is writ on Tombs;
And then, to their immortal Glory,
Forsooth, they're said to live in Story:
A Recompence, which to a wonder
Must please a Man that's cut asunder;
'Tis thought, the cruel-hearted Jade
Is, and will ever be a Maid;
Because none e'er lay in her Bed,
Unless they first were knock'd o'th' head.
| Wishes to a godson | |