The graver Prude ſinks downward to a Gnome,
In ſearch of Miſchief ſtill on Earth to roam.
The light Coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
And ſport and flutter in the Fields of Air.
Know farther yet; Whoever fair and chaſte
Rejects Mankind, is by ſome Sylph embrac'd:
For Spirits, freed from mortal Laws, with eaſe
Assume what Sexes and what Shapes they pleaſe.
What guards the Purity of melting Maids,
In Courtly Balls, and Midnight Maſquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous Friend and daring Spark,
The Glance by Day, the Whiſper in the Dark,
When kind Occaſion prompts their warm Deſires,
When Muſick ſoftens, and when Dancing fires?
'Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celeſtials know,
Tho' Honour is the Word with Men below.
Some Nymphs there are, too conſcious of their Face,
For Life predeſtin'd to the Gnomes Embrace.