Chapter 8 No.8

Oh cursed Honour! thou who first didst damn,

A Woman to the Sin of shame;

Honour! that rob'st us of our Gust,

Honour! that hindred mankind first,

At Loves Eternal Spring to squench his amorous thirst.

Honour! who first taught lovely Eyes the art,

To wound, and not to cure the heart:

With Love to invite, but to forbid with Awe,

And to themselves prescribe a Cruel Law;

To Veil 'em from the Lookers on,

When they are sure the slave's undone,

And all the Charmingst part of Beauty hid;

Soft Looks, consenting Wishes, all deny'd.

It gathers up the flowing Hair,

That loosely plaid with wanton Air.

The Envious Net, and stinted order hold,

The lovely Curls of Jet and shining Gold;

No more neglected on the Shoulders hurl'd:

Now drest to Tempt, not gratify the World:

Thou, Miser Honour, hord'st the sacred store,

And starv'st thy self to keep thy Votaries poor.