Vice never had a more sincere ally,
So bold no Sinner, yet no Saint so sly;
Sophist and Cynic, mystically cool,
And still a very Sceptic at the soul;
Learn'd but not wise, and without Virtue brave,
A gay, deluding, philosophic Knave.
When Bacchus' joys his airy fancy fire,
180
They stir a new, but still a false desire;
The place of malice ridicule then holds,