Classic Poem

II.

I N what esteem did the gods hold
 Fair innocence and the chaste bed,
When scandal'd Virtue might be bold
 Bare-foot upon sharp culters, spread
O'er burning coals, to march; yet feel
Nor scorching fire nor piercing steel?

Why, when the hard-edged iron did turn
 Soft as a bed of roses blown,
When cruel flames forgot to burn
 Their chaste pure limbs, should man alone
'Gainst female innocence conspire
Harder than steel, fiercer than fire?

Oh, hapless sex! Unequal sway
 Of partial honour! Who may know
Rebels from subjects that obey,
 When malice can on vestals throw
Disgrace, and fame fix high repute
On the close shameless prostitute?

Vain Honour! thou art but disguise,
 A cheating voice, a juggling art;
No judge of virtue, whose pure eyes
 Court her own image in the heart,
More pleased with her true figure there
Than her false echo in the ear.