In Saturn's reign, at Nature's early birth, There was that thing called Chastity on earth; When in a narrow cave, their common shade, The sheep, the shepherds, and their gods were laid; When reeds, and leaves, and hides of beasts, were spread, } By mountain-housewives, for their homely bed, } And mossy pillows raised, for the rude husband's head. } Unlike the niceness of our modern dames, (Affected nymphs, with new-affected names,) The Cynthias, and the Lesbias of our years, Who for a sparrow's death dissolve in tears, Those first unpolished matrons, big and bold, Gave suck to infants of gigantic mould; Rough as their savage lords, who ranged the wood, And, fat with acorns, belched their windy food. For when the world was buxom, fresh, and young, Her sons were undebauched, and therefore strong; And whether born in kindly beds of earth, Or struggling from the teeming oaks to birth, Or from what other atoms they begun, No sires they had, or, if a sire, the sun. Some thin remains of chastity appeared Even under Jove,[107] but Jove without a beard; Before the servile Greeks had learnt to swear By heads of kings; while yet the bounteous year Her common fruits in open plains exposed; Ere thieves were feared, or gardens were inclosed. At length uneasy Justice upwards flew, And both the sisters to the stars withdrew;[108] From that old æra whoring did begin, So venerably ancient is the sin. Adulterers next invade the nuptial state, And marriage-beds creaked with a foreign weight; All other ills did iron times adorn, But whores and silver in one age were born. Yet thou, they say, for marriage dost provide; Is this an age to buckle with a bride? They say thy hair the curling art is taught, The wedding-ring perhaps already bought; A sober man like thee to change his life! What fury would possess thee with a wife? Art thou of every other death bereft, No knife, no ratsbane, no kind halter left? (For every noose compared to her's is cheap.) Is there no city-bridge from whence to leap? Would'st thou become her drudge, who dost enjoy A better sort of bedfellow, thy boy? He keeps thee not awake with nightly brawls, Nor, with a begged reward, thy pleasure palls; Nor, with insatiate heavings, calls for more, When all thy spirits were drained out before. But still Ursidius courts the marriage-bait, Longs for a son to settle his estate, And takes no gifts, though every gaping heir Would gladly grease the rich old bachelor. What revolution can appear so strange, As such a lecher such a life to change? A rank, notorious whoremaster, to choose To thrust his neck into the marriage-noose? He who so often, in a dreadful fright, Had, in a coffer, 'scaped the jealous cuckold's sight;