Ev'n they to whom kind Nature did accord
A frame more delicate, and purer mind,
Through the foul brothel and the wine-stain'd board
Of beastly  loathing they declin'd,
Yet their soft hearts to idle joys resign'd;
Like painted insects, through the summer-air
With random flight aye ranging unconfin'd;
And tasting every flower and blossom fair,
Withouten any choice, withouten any care.