WHEN Cupid with his dart, would hearts assail, The rampart most secure is not the VEIL; A husband better will the FAIR protect, Than walls or lattices, I much suspect. Those parents, who in nunneries have got Their daughters (whether willingly or not), Most clearly in a glaring error prove, To fancy God will round their actions move; 'Tis an abuse of what we hold divine; The Devil with them surely must combine. Besides, 'twere folly to suppose that vice Ne'er entered convent walls, and nuns were ice. A very diff'rent sentiment I hold: Girls, who in publick move, however bold, Have greater terrors lest they get a stain; For, honour lost, they never fame regain. Few enemies their modesty attack; The others have but one their minds to rack. TEMPTATION, daughter of the drowsy dame, That hates to move, and IDLENESS we name, Is ever practising each wily art, To spread her snares around the throbbing heart; And fond DESIRE, the child of lorn CONSTRAINT, Is anxious to the soul soft scenes to paint. If I've a worthy daughter made a nun, Is that a reason she's a saint?--Mere fun! Avaunt such folly!--three in four you'll find, Of those who wear the veil--have changed their mind; Their fingers bite, and often do much worse: Those convent vows, full soon, become a curse; Such things at least have sometimes reached my ear (For doubtless I must speak from others here); Of his Boccace a merry tale has told, Which into rhyme I've put, as you'll behold.