Classic Poem

I.

Since all, you call Honour, or Fame,
On others, not you, must depend;
You more will but lose your Good Name,
The more that you to it pretend,
Your Honour, like Men's Fame of Courage, or Wit,
Is soonest lost by your pretending to it;

II.

For all sorts of Hypocrites, (know)
As well in Religion, as Love,
The more their True Faith they wou'd show,
The less its True Merit they prove;
Stand not on your Honour then, more to your Shame,
Your self, by pretending to Fame, to defame;

III.

But if you wou'd not be thought loose,
Appear not to be so strait-lac'd,
Since hiding Love, it you'd expose,
Be more by Feign'd Virtue disgrac'd;
Since Hypocrites still appear nicest to be,
O! then to be thought less loose, seem thou more free;

IV.

Thy Favours in Publick dispense,
To all the World in general;
That, that may seem Indifference,
Which others wou'd Impudence call;
And let all your Kindness seem Common, that so,
You, for the less Common with all Men may go;

V.

For since that Peculiar is now,
A Stile of most Infamy grown;
In calling you Common, (then know)
More Honour I to you have done;
Since 'tis much more easie for Women, (we find)
One Man to resist, than to keep off Mankind;

VI.

The Woman then, so like the Man,
For being by Numbers brought down,
Less Shame or Discredit shou'd gain,
Than she that's o'ercome but by One;
So more for your Honour then shou'd it be held,
The more that the Men were, to whom you did yield.