YOU mighty monarchs henceforth cease to brag,
Hath not old Hamilton his Abishag.
Great Alexander, that bright spark at arms,
Was longer proof of fair Statira's charms,
And is it not a scandal justly counted,
To see old cuff upon young Helen mounted.
Helen is brisk and lovely, as she's chaste,
Yet amorous thoughts may rob her of some rest;
Though this bridegroom be called a man of sense,
Will that give Helen due benevolence?
Though he's esteemed both learned, rich, and good,
Will this conjure the devil of flesh and blood?
Oh! no: For now such miracles are ceas'd,
Our church believes against the Popish priest.
What monstrous weather will that season render,
When florid May is matched with cold December.
From such a wedlock Lord deliver me,
If this be Presbyterian parity.