'Fie,' says the father, 'you're a foolish girl
[200]'Gainst ermines with that height'ned spleen to rail;
Dost think there's vice and folly in an earl?
Then virtue sure does penance in the jail.
To kiss and sport with us is held no sin
If that our dalliance do not pass the skin.
Perchance 'tis not a point of state to have
Too large a stock of wisdom in this age,
The epithet to greatness is not grave;
Those that the Muses in their cells encage,