Classic Poem

W H at gives us that Fantastick Fit
That all our Judgment and our Wit,
To vulgar Custom we submit?

Treason, Theft, Murder, and all the rest
Of that foul Legion we so detest,
Are in their proper names exprest.

Why is it then thought Sin or Shame,
Those necessary Parts to name,
From whence we went, and whence we came?

Nature, what e'er she wants, requires;
With Love enflaming our Desires,
Finds Engines fit to quench those Fires:

Death she abhors; yet when Men die,
We are present; but no Stander by
Looks on when we that Loss supply.

Forbidden Wares sell twice as dear;
Even Sack prohibited last Year,
A most abominable rate did bear.

'Tis plain our Eyes and Ears are nice,
Only to raise, by that device,
Of those Commodities the price.

Thus Reason's shadows us betray,
By Tropes and Figures led astray,
From Nature, both her Guide and Way.