Before you're married, strive to live as free
As possibly you can from venery;
Though 'tis a lust of a rebellious kind,
That owns the least subjection to the mind,
Th' effort of flesh, of blood, the furious horse,
That bears against the bit with headstrong force;
Yet you're oblig'd in justice to refrain,
And to preserve your body without stain:
For as you think 'twould lessen your repute
To marry with a common prostitute,
So you're oblig'd to give yourself entire
To the chaste arms of her whom you admire;
But if you're borne so forcibly away,
As not for Hymen and his rites to stay,
Yet still your country's laws claim just respect,
Though you the rules of chastity neglect;
Though ne'er so rampant, sure you may abstain
From what's forbidden, from unlawful gain;
As from adultery; nor need you wrong
Another, though your lusts be ne'er so strong;
Since there are other liberties allow'd,
To asswage this scorching fever of the blood.
But if you're throughly mortify'd, and find
No inclination left for womankind,
Yet grow not proud upon't, nor those accuse,
Who court those sensual pleasures you refuse;
Nor boast your virtue such, that you defy
The weak attractions of a pleasing eye;
That you, forsooth, are cold as Scythian ice;
For boasting is a most intemp'rate vice,
Not worse the wanton sport that you despise.
No, 'tis the leach'ry of the mind, for which
There's no excuse of flesh and blood, an itch
Of being prais'd, which rather than you'll want,
Ev'n you yourself are you own sycophant.
As possibly you can from venery;
Though 'tis a lust of a rebellious kind,
That owns the least subjection to the mind,
Th' effort of flesh, of blood, the furious horse,
That bears against the bit with headstrong force;
Yet you're oblig'd in justice to refrain,
And to preserve your body without stain:
For as you think 'twould lessen your repute
To marry with a common prostitute,
So you're oblig'd to give yourself entire
To the chaste arms of her whom you admire;
But if you're borne so forcibly away,
As not for Hymen and his rites to stay,
Yet still your country's laws claim just respect,
Though you the rules of chastity neglect;
Though ne'er so rampant, sure you may abstain
From what's forbidden, from unlawful gain;
As from adultery; nor need you wrong
Another, though your lusts be ne'er so strong;
Since there are other liberties allow'd,
To asswage this scorching fever of the blood.
But if you're throughly mortify'd, and find
No inclination left for womankind,
Yet grow not proud upon't, nor those accuse,
Who court those sensual pleasures you refuse;
Nor boast your virtue such, that you defy
The weak attractions of a pleasing eye;
That you, forsooth, are cold as Scythian ice;
For boasting is a most intemp'rate vice,
Not worse the wanton sport that you despise.
No, 'tis the leach'ry of the mind, for which
There's no excuse of flesh and blood, an itch
Of being prais'd, which rather than you'll want,
Ev'n you yourself are you own sycophant.
No comments:
Post a Comment