To
Marcella
.
In
this
so
wanton
and
debaucht
an
Age
,
We
come
to
find
out
Virtue
on
the
Stage
;
By
a
promiscuous
Choice
it
can't
be
done
,
Our
nicer
Fate
compels
to
You
alone
.
You
,
who's
triumphant
Virtue
doth
declare
,
That
Women
can
withstand
the
fatal
Snare
Of
vast
Temptation
,
when
she's
Young
and
Fair
.
In
you
the
ancient
Miracle
we
see
,
(
Tho'
here
we
can
boast
but
of
One
to
Three
)
Unhurt
amidst
the
mighty
Flames
you
move
,
The
wond'ring
Gazers
only
Martyrs
prove
;
Of
all
your
Sex
Great
Albion
must
prefer
You
the
chast
Lucrece
of
her
Theater
.
Ye
yielding
Nymphs
now
you
have
no
excuse
,
Nor
blame
the
Beaus
you
did
your
Honour
lose
;
For
your
Defence
your
softness
is
exprest
With
(
oh
such
Charms
!
no
Woman
can
resist
)
.
Yes
Woman
can
in
this
fair
Maid
we
see
,
Contempt
of
all
their
Love
and
Gallantry
;
Wit
,
Youth
and
Beauty
,
does
this
Lady
bless
,
She's
made
for
Love
and
fitted
for
Address
:
While
Crowds
of
Slaves
ly
sighing
at
her
Feet
,
She
bravely
scorns
what
you
would
run
to
meet
.
Among
them
all
doubtless
there's
more
than
One
,
Charming
as
those
by
whom
you
were
undone
:
The
Soft
,
the
Gay
,
the
Great
,
the
knowing
Man
,
Have
try'd
all
ways
Wit
,
Wealth
,
or
Passion
can
,
To
gain
this
Fair
who
still
her
Heart
secures
,
Unmov'd
she
stands
,
slights
all
their
soft
Amours
,
What
would
you
give
the
Scene
of
Love
were
yours
?
I
know
your
Spite
imputes
it
to
her
Pride
,
Be't
what
it
will
her
Honours
justify'd
:
Her
Virtue
is
the
greater
Miracle
,
To
stand
with
that
by
which
the
Angels
fell
.
Hail
,
lovely
Maid
,
who
contradicts
the
times
,
Your
Virtue
wears
a
Vail
like
others
Crimes
:
How
do
your
Eyes
and
Tongue
bely
your
Heart
,
When
languishing
you
play
the
amorous
part
,
And
softly
fold
your
seeming
loving
Arms
,
And
speak
and
look
a
thousand
killing
Charms
?
Fair
,
soft
Deceiver
,
oh
!
were
I
the
Men
,
I'd
give
the
World
you
was
in
earnest
then
;
Your
pleas'd
Spectators
with
such
Joys
you
bless
,
They
wish
your
Virtues
or
your
Charms
were
less
.