Then let me view this spacious scene,
And see what joys and pleasures mean,
So echo'd by mankind;
But first to every sense of shame,
To virtue, honesty, and fame,
Let reason's eye be blind.

Else should I spoil, with serious thought,
My first essay, nor as I ought,
To pleasure madly run:
Not half enjoy the smiling glass,
Nocturnal rout, street-walking lass,
Or swearing just through fun.

Now, well-equipp'd with impudence,
Enough to overthrow good sense,
And gain of fools the praise;
With vice's sons I lead the way,
The loud, the frolick, and the gay,
Through pleasure's varied ways.

With wine we raise the maddening joy,
Not let dull cares our bliss alloy,
Pull reason from her throne;
'Till every sense that guards around,
In noisy mirth and madness drown'd,
Bids pleasure reign alone.

Ah! would these smiling hours delay,
Nor bring the quick, repentant day,
When reason gains her seat;
When pleasure, and her cheating train,
Deform'd, must bite the galling chain,
And own the sad defeat.

Now beauty calls, her voice I own,
That sound, to every bosom known,
That bids us own her power;
But proof against delusive art,
Untouch'd remains my beauty's heart,
And shrinks to be a whore.

What, then, some able bawd may find,
The way to vitiate her mind,
And make those charms my own;
'Tis try'd…'tis done…enjoyment cloys,
No more I long to taste those joys,…
The wretch is left undone!

Is left to mourn her bitter fate,
But, ah! repentance comes too late,
Depriv'd of every stay;
By friends disown'd, compelled by want,
The place of lewdness is her haunt,
She holds on vice's way.

Are these thy joys, poor mortal! these
The pleasures that were still to please?
No more the cheat pursue;
Tho' fashion bids thee fondly run
To vice, and honest quiet shun,…
True joy is virtue's due!