Classic Poem

Hermit , who with Contempt look down
From yon high Mountain 's barren Crown
Upon the leud, licentious Town!
Descend, and live with us unmov'd:
Your boasted Force is yet unprov'd,
While in that cold, sad, mossy Cell
Untempted thus alone you dwell:
See Cloe smile, and feel no Wound;
Brave all the Joys , that here abound,
And we'll pronounce your Virtue sound.