There the step-dame keeps her handFrom guilty plots, from blood of orphans clean;There no downed wives commandTheir feeble lords, or on adulterers lean.Theirs are dowries not of gold,Their parents' worth, their own pure chastity,True to one, to others cold;They dare not sin, or, if they dare, they die.O, whoe'er has heart and headTo stay our plague of blood, our civic brawls,Would he that his name be read“Father of Rome” on lofty pedestals,Let him chain this lawless will,And be our children's hero! cursed spite!Living worth we envy still,Then seek it with strain'd eyes, when snatch'd from sight.