The Bible sures’s too grave for Comedy:  If she nor lewdly nor profanely talk She’ll have a cleaner, tho a narrower Walk.  Our Nation’s endless Humour will supply So large a Fund as never can be dry; Why then should Vice be bare and open shown, And with such Nauseous Scenes affront the Town? 990 Why thrive the Lewd, their Wishes seldom crost, And why Poetic Justice often lost?  They plead they copy Nature.—­Don’t abuse Her sacred Name with such a vile Excuse!  She wisely hides what these, like Beasts display, } Ev’n Vice it self, less impudent than they, } Remote in Shades, and far from conscious Day. } From this Retrenchment by strong Reason beat, They next to poor Necessity retreat:  The Murderers, Bawds and Robbers last pretence 1000 With equal Justice, equal Innocence!  So Crack, in pious Fit, will plead she’s poor, ’Tis a hard Choice, Good Sir, to starve or whore!  —­Is there no Third, or will such Reas’nings pass In Bridewel’s rigid Court, or save the Lash?  Where the stern Judge, like Radamanth, surveys The trembling Sinner, and each Action weighs.  A lazy, black, encumber’d Stream rolls by, Whole thick sulphureous Vapours load the Sky; Near where, in Caves from Heav’n’s sweet Light debar’d, 1010 Shrieks, Groans, and Iron Whips, and Clanks of Chains are heard.  And can’t you thrash, or trail a Pike or Pole?  Are there no Jakes in Town, or Kennels foul?  No honester Employment, that you chuse With such vile Drudgery t’abase the heav’n born Muse?  The num’rous ODE in various Paths delights, Love, Friendship, Gods, and Heroes, Games and Fights:  Her Age with Veneration is confess’d The first great Mother she of all the rest, This [8]MOSES us’d, and DAVID’S Royal Lyre, } This he whom wond’ring Seraphs did inspire, } 1020 Whence PINDAR stole some Sparks of heav’nly Fire, } Who now by COWLEY’s happy Muse improv’d, Is understood by some, by more belov’d:  The Vastness of his Thought, the daring Range, That imperceptible and pleasing Change, Our jealous Neighbours must themselves confess The British Genius tracks with most Success; But still the Smoothness we of Verse desire, The Regulation of our Native Fire:  This from experienc’d Masters we receive, 1030 Sweet FLATMAN’S Works, and DRYDEN’S this will give.  If you in pointed SATYR most delight, Worry not, where you only ought to bite: