Pause, pause, thou libertine, and lay
Thy hand upon thy bounding heart,
And ask thy soul, if to betray
The virgin is a manly part?

Alas! 'tis here the error lies—
'Tis gallantry to rob the maid
Of her fair fame, and tyrannize
O'er the fond heart by love betray'd.

Mistaken Man! the honor prize
Of Woman, nor her peace destroy;
'Tis her meek smile that best supplies
The sweetest zest of social joy.

Reject th' enticements of Desire,
Ye lovely maids, with cautious mind;
Nor yield to that destructive fire
That leaves a ruin'd fame behind.