Now soar, my Muse! and leave the meaner crew[5], To aim at bliss, and vainly bliss pursue; Let us (since Man no privilege can claim, Than a contended, half superior name) Expatiate o'er the raptures of the Fair, Vot'ries to stolen joys, but yet sincere; In secret Haunts, where never day-light gleams By bottles, tempting with forbidden streams, Together let us search; above, below, Try what the Closets, what the Cellars show; 10 The latent vault with piercing view explore Of her who hides the all reviving store. Eye Beauty's walks, when round the welkin rolls, And catch the stumbling Charmer as she falls; Laugh where we must, but pity where we can, And vindicate the sweet soft souls to Man. Pardon, ye Fair, the Poet and his Muse, And what ye can't approve, at least excuse; Far be from him the iron lash of Wit, The jokes of Humour, and the sneers that hit; 20 He speaks of Freedom, and he speaks to you, His Verse is simple, but his Subject new; And novelty, ye Fair, beyond a doubt, Is philosophic truth, the World throughout. Hard is the lot of Woman, so have sung The pensive old, and the presuming young; Born without privilege, in bondage bred, Slave from the Cradle to the marriage Bed; Slave from the hour hymeneal to the grave, In age, in youth, in infancy a Slave. 30 Happy the Bard, who, bold in pride of song Shall free the chain, by Custom bound so long, And show the Fair, to mean tradition prone, Though Virtue may have sex, yet Vice has none. If Man is licenc'd to confuse his mind, Say, why should female Frailty be confin'd? Is't right that she who dearly bought the fruit, } Of all our wayward appetites the root, } Who first made Man a fool and then a brute; } Who fair in spells of tender kind can slay, 40 Like Israel's Judge, her thousands in a day; Nay farther, has a far superior Pow'r, And almost thousands in a day can cure; She, the bright cause of fury in Man's breast; And brighter cause who bids that fury rest; Who raises peace or war at her command, And bids a sword destroy a tipsy Land; Say, is it right that she who kills and saves, Makes wise Men mad, and takes the veil from Knaves, Should want the pow'r, the magic, which alone, 50 Can Conquests boast more fatal than her own? For Man alone did earth produce her fruit, The sole, as well as the superior, brute; Does he alone the glorious licence claim, To put the human off, and loose his Name? Woman in Knowledge was the earlier curst, And tasted of forbidden Fruit the first; Prior to Man, the law she disobey'd, And shall she want the Freedom she convey'd? By her first Theft each fiery ill we feel, 60 And yet compel the gen'rous Fair to steal;