In a debauch'd and a censorious age:
Where nothing now is counted standard wit,
But what's profane, obscene, or's bad as it.
For our great wits, like gallants of the times
(And such they are), court only those loose rhymes,
Which, like their misses, patch'd and painted are;
But scorn what virtuous is and truly fair;
Such as your Muse is, who with careful art
10For all but such, hath wisely fram'd a part.
One while (methinks) under some gloomy shade,