Classic Poem

Old Venerable Jeph

Yet Ostia boasts of her regeneration,
And tells us wondrous tales of reformation:
How against vice she has been so severe,
That none but Men of Quality may swear:
How public lewdness is expelled the nation,
That private whoring may be more in fashion;
How parish magistrates, like pious elves,
Let none be drunk a Sundays but themselves,
And hackney coachmen durst not ply the street
In sermon-time, till they had paid the state.
These, Ostia, are the shams of reformation
With which thou mock'st thy Maker and the nation;
While in thy streets unpunished there remain
Crimes which have yet insulted Heaven in vain,
Crimes which our satire blushes to review,
And sins thy sister Sodom never knew:
Superior lewdness crowns thy magistrates,
And vice grown grey usurps the reverend seats;
Eternal blasphemies and oaths abound,
And bribes among thy senators are found.
Old Venerable Jeph, with trembling air,
Ancient in sin, and Father of the Chair,
Forsook by vices he had loved so long,
Can now be vicious only with his tongue,
Yet talks of ancient lewdness with delight,
And loves to be the justice of the night.
On bawdy tales with pleasure he reflects,
And lewdly smiles at vices he corrects.
The feeble tottering magistrate appears
Willing to wickedness, in spite of years,
Struggles his age and weakness to resist,
And fain would sin, but nature won't assist.