And, first, the grave old woman gives advice; The next is called, and so the turn goes round, As each for age, or wisdom, is renowned: Such counsel, such deliberate care they take, As if her life and honour lay at stake: With curls on curls, they build her head before, And mount it with a formidable tower. A giantess she seems; but look behind, And then she dwindles to the pigmy kind. Duck-legged, short-waisted, such a dwarf she is, That she must rise on tip-toes for a kiss. Meanwhile, her husband's whole estate is spent! He may go bare, while she receives his rent. She minds him not; she lives not as a wife, But, like a bawling neighbour, full of strife: Near him in this alone, that she extends Her hate to all his servants and his friends. Bellona's priests,[128] an eunuch at their head, About the streets a mad procession lead; The venerable gelding, large, and high, O'erlooks the herd of his inferior fry. His aukward clergymen about him prance, And beat the timbrels to their mystic dance; Guiltless of testicles, they tear their throats, And squeak, in treble, their unmanly notes. Meanwhile, his cheeks the mitred prophet swells, And dire presages of the year foretels; Unless with eggs (his priestly hire) they haste To expiate, and avert the autumnal blast; And add beside a murrey-coloured vest,[129] Which, in their places, may receive the pest, And, thrown into the flood, their crimes may bear, To purge the unlucky omens of the year. The astonished matrons pay, before the rest; That sex is still obnoxious to the priest. Through ye they beat, and plunge into the stream, If so the God has warned them in a dream. Weak in their limbs, but in devotion strong, } On their bare hands and feet they crawl along } A whole field's length, the laughter of the throng. } Should Io (Io's priest, I mean) command A pilgrimage to Meroe's burning sand, Through deserts they would seek the secret spring, And holy water for lustration bring. How can they pay their priests too much respect, Who trade with heaven, and earthly gains neglect! With him domestic gods discourse by night; By day, attended by his choir in white, The bald pate tribe runs madding through the street, And smile to see with how much ease they cheat. The ghostly sire forgives the wife's delights, Who sins, through frailty, on forbidden nights, And tempts her husband in the holy time, When carnal pleasure is a mortal crime. The sweating image shakes his head, but he, With mumbled prayers, atones the deity. The pious priesthood the fat goose receive, And, they once bribed, the godhead must forgive. No sooner these remove, but full of fear, A gipsey Jewess whispers in your ear,