Classic Poem

If us you wou'd, to Worship you, provoke,
Seem not a Painted Image, liveless Stock;
Kneeling to Statues, is Idolatry,
Move, and be Mov'd, our Faith to justifie,
Turn from an Idol, a Divinity;
Like Diamonds, Eyes ne'er Sparkle, till they move,
Their Value so, but by their Motion prove;
A Painted Flame, can nothing set on Fire,
Form gives us Liking, Motion our Desire;
Your Stiff Joints but respect your own Long Back,
Which, since so Stiff, you seem afraid to Crack;
But, sensless Maid! with all thy Stifness, know,
You, like the Bow, kill more, the more you bow;
Leave being Stiff to Men, that they to thee,
(More to thy Credit) may the Stiffer be;
That the more Pliant you grow to their Love,
They less so, from more Love, may to you prove;
Protesting Lovers, (you must know) Stiff Dear!
But like Protecting Christians, always are,
To Statues never make vain Vows, or Pray'r;
If thou, (my Goddess!) wou'dst be mov'd by me,
And sensible of Vows I make thee, be,
On my Knees often, I'll bow down to thee;
For nothing more I to you pray for now,
But to you Reason on my Knees to do,
To Sacrifice, to th' God of Love, and you;
But if to me you'll seem a Stock, or Stone,
Thee for my Goddess, I no more can own;
Since vain Idolatry were sure my Pray'r,
To that cold Image which no Pray'r can hear;
Nor to her Supplicant afford her Grace,
For his Devotion to her, Pray'r, or Praise
Then to deserve, and have my Worship, be,
But less a painted Stock, cold Stone to me,
To make me warmer Flesh and Blood, to thee;
That I may your devouter Sinner grow,
May love, fear, serve, and only honour you,
Nor any other jealous Goddess know;
Since all that we can call Idolatry,
Is making our own selves, our Deity,
Of a deaf, sensless, living Piece of Imag'ry;
Since 'tis the same Fault in us, to make Pray'r,
To those, who will not, as who cannot hear,
Who give us, for our Faith in them, Despair;
To have, for wrong Faith in 'em, which shou'd gain
Us Joys and Rest, Eternal Flames and Pain;
To make our Superstitious Worship, so,
In Quest of Bliss, but our Damnation grow,
In Flames of Love, like Hell's, perpetual too.