Of Dames who in strict Virtue glory,
In antient or in modern Story;
The fam'd Lucretia bears the Bell,
An arrant Prude, as Authors tell;
So squeamish, fanciful and nice,
She startled at the Thought of Vice;
For having once, against her Will,
And with a Prince committed Ill;
Possess'd with strange romantick Pride,
She stab'd her self, forsooth, and dy'd;
For she would no Example give,
For future Prostitutes to live:
(Lord help her! if the Sex will sport,
They never want Examples for't)
This Feat of hers alarm'd the Age,
And set the Nation in a Rage;
Each Roman Cit was seiz'd with Dread,
Thought the Horns sprouting on his Head;
With Doubts and Jealousies perplext,
Lest his own Turn should be the next:
And therefore all resolve as one,
To rout both Father and the Son;
Bad may you think was Tarquin's Case;
Him they expel and all his Race;
His Name, and ev'n the Name of Kings,
(For Rapes were then no trivial Things)
The State grew popular and common,
And all by one poor silly Woman.

But tho' this Deed in former Days
Procur'd our Madam wondrous Praise;
Yet let not any modern Beauty
Hence rashly judge, that 'tis her Duty,
For every little breach of Honour,
To take Lucretia's Air upon her;
(For in this strict religious Season,
Such Cautions can't be void of Reason)
In ancient Times the Roman Dame,
To save her Virtue and her Fame,
According to the Pagan Creed,
Might do a meritorious Deed;
She might --- but in a Christian Nation,
Self Murther's worse than Violation.