Ask we for what fair end, th' almighty sire
In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt,
These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust
Educing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aid
The tardy steps of reason, and at once
By this prompt impulse urge us to depress
The giddy aims of folly? Tho' the light
Of truth slow-dawning on th' inquiring mind,
At length unfolds, thro' many a subtile tie,
How these uncouth disorders end at last
In public evil; yet benignant heav'n
Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears
To thousands; conscious what a scanty pause
From labours and from care, the wider lot
Of humble life affords for studious thought
To scan the maze of nature; therefore stampt
The glaring scenes with characters of scorn,
As broad, as obvious to the passing clown,
As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.