University of Virginia Library

TO THE LIBERTINE.

What wouldst thou have? thy heated frame is burnt
With fiery furies, that consume thyself;
Thy spirit takes its knowledge from the flesh,
And that which pleases selfishness loves thee,
Swoln in pride, begotten of conceit,
Brought forth of indolence; thy sluggish soul
Active alone when thirsting but with lust,
Can rouse itself to energy in ill.
Affecting gentleness, and love of those,
Whose weaker frames, for man's protection ask;
Thine 'tis to conquer, and to bring to shame
That which shall stamp thee but with infamy.
O thou canst study to indulge thyself,
Those soft acquirements, which the gentler sex,
Believe to be the index of the mind,
Wise in the flow of guileful artful words,
Enticing in the smile of treachery,
Pleasing in impudence, thine eye is cast
In seeming admiration on the fair;
But not in virtue, nor in nature's love,
Neither of these admit a thought of ill,
Virtue is wisdom! nature is delight;
Though mix'd with sorrow! but thy soul has naught
But love of luxury in the lap of lust:
Say is the crocodile on banks of Nile,
Half so deceitful in his craving cry,
Alluring to the kindest heart of man,
Or near so greedy when he snaps in halves,
The victim of his subtilty, as thou?
What does the monster of the muddy stream,
But use that instinct, to betray, for food,
Which Libertine, thou usest, for thine end:—
O thou art cruel! dost thou sing of love?
Thou monster of deformity in mind,
Wakest thou the passions of the noblest soul,
And that to treachery, deceit, disgrace,
Calling, by terms which faithfulness alone
Should dare to venture on! the thought of love!
O shame thee, shame! no wonder that thine end
Should bring on bitterness of pain and woe!
Thou dost increase the very gall of death;
Thou dost inhale the vapours of disease.
Thy flesh incurable, doth rot thy mind,
Thy very bones are brittle in the flame,
The all devouring never sated fire
Of deadly passion. Libertine if ought
That seems to thee delightful have its end
In virtuous feeling, thou wilt think of this!
If thou hast mind, go humble thee to dust,
That dust may be reduced to what it is,
And so thy spirit taking purer flight,
May rise above dominion of the flesh
And then condemn the very deeds of life
Which formerly were pleasant to the taste:
Then pity suffering! God may pardon thine,
And thou be Christian! not a Libertine.