As masks afford the keenest gust to Sin;
Imagination helps the reverend Sire,
And spreads the sails of sub-divine desire.
But when the gay immoral joke goes round,
When Shame and all her blushing train are drown'd,
Rather than hear his God blasphem'd he takes
The last lov'd Glass, and then the board forsakes:
Not that Religion prompts the sober thought,
But slavish Custom has the practice taught.
Besides, this zealous son of warm devotion