Classic Poem

Duce on't, I wonder what the Author means,
To pester thus the Stage with moral Scenes!
The Fool! he sent me hither to excuse him;
Faith, I'll be even with him, and abuse him.
I hope he listens, while I speak my Thoughts,
And tell, what he must bear to hear, his Faults.
First he endeavours, in a free-born Nation,
To bring the wearing Fetters into Fashion,
Nor would have loving Couples go together,
Till they were yok'd by matrimonial Tether:
Here he does plainly Liberty invade,
And is, besides, an Enemy to Trade:
Should his Advice be follow'd thro' the Land,
What must become of Drury, and the Strand?
In France , when Age appears thro' Walls of Paint,
Each battered Jade turns Devote or Saint;
And when her Looks no longer Love inspire,
Does wisely to a Nunnery retire:
But here should pretty Females leave off sinning,
What must they do? — betake themselves to spinning!
Why, sure, 'twou'd vex the Heart of Jew , or Turk ,
To see the pretty playful Creatures work.
Well, after all his railing thus at Harlots,
'Tis said he lik'd them once by lying Varlets;
And that, unless he perfectly had known 'em,
He never cou'd so perfectly have shewn 'em.
But, Jests apart, the Poet bad me say,
He to the gen'rous Fair commends this Play,
To shew their matchless Excellence design'd,
And cure the roving Madness of Mankind;
To shew the Fair, tho' Husbands may be led
By artful Wiles, to stain the nuptial Bed;
Yet Virtue shall, at last, triumphant prove,
And Husbands bless the Joys of faithful Love.
Studious the Worthy and the Good to please,
If such with Approbation crown his Lays,
Our happy Author seeks no other Praise.