While, charged with fancied souls, sticks, stones and clay,
Shall take your seats, and hiss or clap the play.
O happy age! when convert Christians read
No sacred writings but the Pagan creed;
O happy age! when spurning Newton's dreams,
Our poet's sons recite Lucretian themes,
Abjure the idle systems of their youth,
And turn again to atoms and to truth.
O happier still! when England's dauntless dames,
Awed by no chaste alarms, no latent shames,