That nod their reverend Heads at every Breeze;
Embassadors like _Turks_ hence send Express,
And _Ministers of State_ like Devils dress--

Should some wild _Indian_ see the various Scene,
He'd swear all Nations of the Earth do here convene,
And take for quite reverse this medley Farce,
Think Strumpers Saints, or catstick'd Beau a _Mars_.

But now the Dancers nimble Feet go round,
And with just Measures beat the passive Ground,
Each one inclines to different Delights--
Musick the Fair, Sweetmeats the Beau invite;
The _Templar_ wisely does his Care enroll,
Pockets the Pheasant, and eats up the Fowls
Nor will return to join the giddy Rout,
'Till he has eat and drank his _Guinea_ out.

Now Dancing fires the Nymph to softer Joys;
The Musick's dull, the Wine and Sweetmeat cloys;
_Strephon_ streight takes the Hint, withdraws a-while,
By soft Endearments does her Grief beguile;
Soon they return more vig'rous than before,
Do what they will, she cannot be a Whore.

For _Mahomet_ may dream of heavenly Stews,
Where Virgin Rose, soon as it's lost, renews,
And shake with every Breath of Air serene,
As trembling for the Rapes they've daily seen;
When if those past can shake their Height profound,