What nobler altars shall we raise?
Those sacrifices could we see
Which wit, O virtue! makes to thee,
At once the rising thought to dash,
To quench at once the bursting flash!
The shining mischief to subdue,
And lose the praise and pleasure too!
Though Venus’ self could you detect her
Imbuing with her richest nectar
The thought unchaste, to check that thought,