_Dor._ Have you not cloven feet? are you not devils? Dare any say so much, or dare I hear it Without a virtuous and religious anger? Now to put on a virgin modesty, Or maiden silence, when His power is question'd That is omnipotent, were a greater crime, Than in a bad cause to be impudent. Your gods! your temples! brothel-houses rather, Or wicked actions of the worst of men, Pursued and practised. Your religious rites! Oh! call them rather juggling mysteries, The baits and nets of hell: your souls the prey For which the devil angles; your false pleasures A steep descent, by which you headlong fall Into eternal torments. _Cal._ Do not tempt Our powerful gods. _Dor._ Which of your powerful gods? Your gold, your silver, brass, or wooden ones, That can nor do me hurt, nor protect you? Most pitied women! will you sacrifice To such,--or call them gods or goddesses, Your parents would disdain to be the same, Or you yourselves? O blinded ignorance! Tell me, Calista, by thy truth, I charge you, Or any thing you hold more dear, would you, To have him deified to posterity, Desire your father an adulterer, A ravisher, almost a parricide, A vile incestuous wretch? _Cal._ That, piety And duty answer for me. _Dor._ Or you, Christeta, To be hereafter register'd a goddess, Give your chaste body up to the embraces Of wicked passion? have it writ on your forehead, "This is the mistress in the art of sin. Knows every trick, and labyrinth of desires That are immodest?" _Christ._ You judge better of me, Or my affection is ill placed on you. Shall I turn wanton? _Dor._ No, I think you would not. Yet, such was Venus, whom you worship; such Flora, the foundress of the public stews, And has, for that, her sacrifice; your Jupiter, A loose adulterer:--read ye but those That have canonized them, you'll find them worse Than, in chaste language, I can speak them to you. Are they immortal, then, that did partake Of human weakness, and had ample share In men's most base affections; subject to Unchaste loves, anger, bondage, wounds, as men are? Here, Jupiter, to serve his lust, turn'd bull, The shape, indeed, in which he stole Europa; Neptune, for gain, builds up the walls of Troy, As a day-labourer; Apollo keeps Admetus' sheep for bread; the Lemnian smith Sweats at the forge for hire; Prometheus here, With his still-growing liver, feeds the vulture; Saturn bound fast in hell with adamant chains; And thousands more, on whom abused error Bestows a deity. Will you then, dear sisters, For I would have you such, pay your devotions To things of less power than yourselves? _Cal._ We worship Their good deeds in their images.