IN ancient times, some hundred winters past,
When British dames, for conscience sake, were chaste,
If some frail nymph, by youthful passion sway'd,
From virtue's paths unhappily had stray'd:
When banish'd reason re-assum'd her place,
The conscious wretch bewail'd her foul disgrace;
Fled from the world, and pass'd her joyless years
In decent solitude and pious tears;
Veil'd in some convent made her peace with heaven,
And almost hop'd — by Prudes to be forgiven.