“Forgiving woman is deceived and spurn’d: 
Say that the crime is common—­shall I take
A common man my wedded lord to make? 
See? a weak woman by his arts betray’d,
An infant born his father to upbraid;
Shall I forgive his vileness, take his name,
Sanction his error, and partake his shame? 
No! this assent would kindred frailty prove,
A love for him would be a vicious love: 
Can a chaste maiden secret counsel hold
With one whose crime by every mouth is told? 
Forbid it spirit, prudence, virtuous pride;
He must despise me, were he not denied: 
The way from vice the erring mind to win
Is with presuming sinners to begin,
And show, by scorning them, a just contempt for sin.” 
   The youth, repulsed, to one more mild convey’d
His heart, and smiled on the remorseless maid;
The maid, remorseless, in her pride, the while
Despised the insult, and return’d the smile. 
   First to admire, to praise her, and defend,
Was (now in years advanced) a virgin-friend: 
Much she preferr’d, she cried the single state,
“It was her choice”—­it surely was her fate;
And much it pleased her in the train to view
A maiden vot’ress, wise and lovely too. 
   Time to the yielding mind his change imparts,
He varies notions, and he alters hearts;
’Tis right, ’tis just to feel contempt for vice,
But he that shows it may be over-nice: 
There are who feel, when young, the false sublime,
And proudly love to show disdain for crime;
To whom the future will new thoughts supply,
The pride will soften, and the scorn will die;
Nay, where they still the vice itself condemn,
They bear the vicious, and consort with them: 
Young Captain Grove, when one had changed his side,
Despised the venal turncoat, and defied;
Old Colonel Grove now shakes him by the hand,
Though he who bribes may still his vote command. 
Why would not Ellen to Belinda speak,
When she had flown to London for a week,
And then return’d, to every friend’s surprise,
With twice the spirit, and with half the size? 
She spoke not then—­but, after years had flown,
A better friend had Ellen never known: 
Was it the lady her mistake had seen? 
Or had she too on such a journey been? 
No:  ’twas the gradual change in human hearts,
That time, in commerce with the world, imparts;
That on the roughest temper throws disguise,
And steals from virtue her asperities. 
The young and ardent, who with glowing zeal
Felt wrath for trifles, and were proud to feel,
Now find those trifles all the mind engage,
To soothe dull hours, and cheat the cares of age;
As young Zelinda, in her quaker-dress,
Disdain’d each varying fashion’s vile excess,
And now her friends on old Zelinda gaze,
Pleased in rich silks and orient gems to blaze: 
Changes like these ’tis folly to condemn,
So virtue yields not, nor is changed with them.