The Virginia Gazette

The TEMPLE of VIRTUE.

G
REAT JOVE, ambitious of immortal Name,
An Edifice erects to raise his Fame;
No Ornaments but what kind Nature yields,
Much Beauty with Simplicity he blends:
Magnificently plain in ev'ry Part,
The Pomp of Neatness thus express'd the Art.

The Situation on a rising Ground.
Which overlook'd the lofty Trees around;
The whole Descent a pleasant Verdure yields,
A Velvet Turf, the Clothing of the Fields;
Th' adjacent Woods whose Sweets diffusive spread,
Whose Crystal Springs refresh'd the flow'ry Mead,
Were stor'd with feather'd Folk, whose pleasing Strains
Eccho'd their Harmony throughout the Plains.

The Work compleat, JOVE sent the Demi-Gods
A Summons, they Should haste from their Abodes.
The Deities attend: --- and round him stand,
With all Attention, wait his great Command.

A Temple rais'd; pray view its lofty Head!
Those pleasing Avenues that to it lead:
My Friends, says he, behold from yonders Glade,
No common Structure doth invite your Eye,
And yet compos'd of pure Simplicity;
Virtue on ev'ry Side the Turret's carv'd,
Make good your Claim, the Temple's your Reward;
Exert your selves to gain this happy Seat,
Beware of false Pretence, --- I hate a Cheat.

Their Godships lik'd the Fabrick wond'rous well,
For Architecture none cou'd it excel;
But thought the Terms a little too severe,
Beg'd Time of JUPITER their Claim to hear:
Arch MOMUS smil'd, and gave his usual Leer.

No Time, says JUPITER, can I you give,
Tis present Merit you're requir'd to have,
Make
Make good your Virtuous Deeds, 'tis all I ask:
Says Momus, Sir, they're Strangers to the Task.
Their Godships burn with Rage their furious Eye
To Momus dart, for making this Reply:
Choak'd with Revenge, they swell their jealous Maw,
Great Jupiter gives Order, they withdraw.
One Word, says Momus, with your Godship's Leave,
Pray never think it worth your while to grieve;
For this same Temple is beneath your Care,
Whoever gains it must live on the Air,
No Mortal will approach him when he's there.
If that's the Case, they one and all reply'd,
Let who wou'd take it, they were satisfied.
No sooner gone, but Momus spy'd a Train
Of Goddeses, that tript along the Plain:
O Jupiter, he says, behold the Mien!
The great Contrast appears in this same Scene;
The Poles in Distance do not differ more
Than these same Ladies, pray Sir view them o'er:
Respect was shewn peculiar to the Fair,
To private Audience each admitted were:
The first appear'd sufficient in her Mien,
And for the Temple thought she had a Claim:
I crave your Name, sweet Fair! Jove to her aid,
She answer'd, PRIDE, and rais'd her lofty Head:
My Title's good, says he, I'm near a kin
To ev'ry King and Prince that e'er has been;
At Court, at Camp, at ev'ry Siege from Troy,
My Principles they hitherto enjoy:
Not only that, but I can fairly prove,
From Lucifer I have but one Remove.
'Tis true, says Jove, I know, but 'tis in vain,
For this same Temple you can have no Claim.
Momus attended on her to the Door,
For Quality commanded that or more;
Then made his Leg -- and whisper'd something o'er,
Her Mother he had known to be a Whore:
The Goddess frown'd, and soon her Exit made,
Jove smil'd, and call'd another in her Stead.
With Reverence much, reverse of what he'd seen,
Obedience made like Poets with a Theme;
To you, great Jupiter, whose mighty Power,
That at your Will can cause a golden Show'r;
To you, she said, all Honours I wou'd pay,
They call me POVERTY; d'ye know me pray?
I've heard much of you, Jupiter replies,
You'r one that oft appear in a Disguise;
You know the Truth from me you can't conceal,
Then make your Merit known, your Crimes reveal:
If you are truly Virtuous, you have a Right
To this said Temple! see? 'tis in your Sight.
The Goddess bow'd, and said her Fate was so,
She cou'd not act as other Powers do:
The World was grown, he thought, to such a Pass,
That even hers that was the meanest Class,
Run retrograde to Virtue's strictest Laws;
She knew of none but wou'd admit of Flaws.
What None! the God replies, --- sure 'tis not so!
You mete out others by your own you know;
Your Measure's false: The World is not so bad,
True Virtue may be found, -- all are not mad.
Not ipso facto mad I do not say,
But more or less delirious in their Way;
These are my Words, she said, you'll find it true,
One grain of Virtue goes to very few.
Great Jove was struck with this Report he made,
But knew that Artifice was all her Trade:
He told the Goddess She might then retire,
For to the Temple she cou'd not aspire.
Dame POVERTY, Says Momus, how came you
To think on Virtue? -- did you ever know
Such Opposites concur with us below?
'Tis all a Joke, and you will find it so.
The Goddess, sensible that he had err'd,
Said for the future, she'd be no more reserv'd;
To Virtue She wou'd never more lay Claim,
Thank'd Momus for the Hint, and out she came.
With down cast Eyes, with Visage pale and wan,
The Bloom of Life quite disappear'd and gone:
Another here presents herself to View.
Her Aspect seem'd to speak some Merit due:
In murmuring Sounds Ejaculations made,
And Sighs alternately now from her fled:
Her Feet the Sandals bore from off the Ground.
And round her Waist a Cord of Hemp was bound:
A Cross or two hung dangling by her Side,
The Trophies that she gain'd in War with Pride:
And here and there a Medal of a Saint,
The various Trappings made her almost faint;
All self-sufficient, happy was her State,
No Room she thought there was for a Debate;
But to the Temple straight to be preferr'd,
For she from Virtue sure had never swerv'd.
Here Jupiter a while upon her gaz'd,
And at her curious Dress, was quite amaz'd.
What Types of Honour pray says Jove are these?
A Steed that's harneis'd seems more at Ease:
From whence derived these Orders that you wear?
Of what Degree, what Title do you bear?
Methinks, great Jove, the Goddess here replies,
You're grown a Stranger to the DEITIES:
PIETY I'm call'd, d'ye know me now?
To wear this Garb I've made a solemn Vow.
Your Pardon Fair, says Jupiter, I crave,
I own I took you for some royal Slave;
The Ensigns that you bear I never knew,
Religion I could ne'er suspect in you.
That's strange, she said; -- the Habit is well known
To ev'ry Monarch throughout Christendom.
It may be so, I'll not dispute, says Jove,
But what was it induc'd you here to rove?
Thrice Seven long Years, says she, I've pent
In Fasts and Prayers, each Day to me was Lent:
Deterr'd from all the Joys that Earth afford,
A Prisoner close confin'd within my Ward;
But travel'd hither, hearing of the Prize,
To prove my Title to yon Edifice:
If such like Actions will not intercede,
Your Temple must be uninhabited.
Those tedious Years, I'm very much afraid,
Hold, hold, says Jove, Madam, you run a head,
Destroys that Virtue which you here wou'd plead:
Denotes Reluctance in the very Act,
Allowing all that you can say is Fact.
'Tis not your Fasts and Prayers alone will do,
The Hypocrite can pray as well as you.
And much I dread these Robes are all Deceit,
The Powers above allow no Counterfeit.
Religious Works are virtuous, but in you
It seems Compulsion; so no Merit's due.
O Jupiter, says she, no more I'll try
To work upon thy penetrating Eye;
I own the Institution's made a Trade:
The Garb is nothing but a Masquerade:
Religious Cloaks do often Vice conceal,
Ambition was my View; there lay my Zeal.
Henceforth to Cottages will I reside,
Throw off the Veil, in Purity abide.
So said; -- she here was taking of her Leave.
Momus stept up and took her by the Sleeve;
A Word or two, Madam, e'er you go,
You know not what you are about to do:
Shou'd you this Resolution hold, I fear
You'l make Religion in the World too clear:
The Priests will hate you, that you must expect,
And they're a potent People; pray reflect?
The Goddess smil'd, and said, that might be true,
But stood resolv'd the Method to pursue;
And with Submission, bid to Jove adieu.
In Contemplation, stood immortal Jove,
Star'd o'er the Passions that Mankind do move:
He reason'd well on what the Goddesses said,
And found Ambition was the greatest dread:
Ambition! tis the Parent of their Woe,
The mighty Source from whence all Mischiefs flow.
O VIRTUE where! O where art thou fled!
In what deep Cavern hidest thou thy Head!
Arise once more, and give Mankind thy Aid.
When straight the Goddess, last of all the Train.
Made her Appearance for the Seat to gain.
Her whole Demeanour simple, but yet neat,
A cheerful Countenance around her sat:
To each fair Breast a little Babe she had,
And wantonly they with the Bubby play'd:
Each Time the little Innocents receiv'd
The Nourishment she gave, their Wants reliev'd:

Twas hard to guess, which of the Three most pleas'd.
From whence, says JOVE, bright Goddess came you
You seem a Stranger; have you lost your Way? pray?
If I may be so bold, what Name d'ye bear?
Says MOMUS, Sir, 'tis CHARITY, I wear.
Reply'd the Goddess, Sir, the very same:
I am so call'd, I think, 'by common Fame.
Your Pardon, Goddess, JUPITER he cries,
That Emblem might instruct the dullest Eyes;
But 'tis a Picture rarely does appear,
And seldom is of Ostentation clear:
Yon Temple, I presume, you have in View;
You know the Terms that make it your just Due.
I came not hither, JUPITER, She says,
To boast of Merit, or to sound my Praise;
Tis what I here entirely disclaim,
Your Temple therefore I cannot obtain.
Why so, reply'd, the God? that's somewhat strange,
The Field is large that Virtue has to range.
Your right, she said, but when we've done our best,
I fear our Virtue will not stand the Test.
Frail Nature is oft beset, as oft beguiled,
When Reason once gives way, the Sense is wild:
Temptation's strong: --- The best that we can do,
's to fly the Tempter, lest he shou'd pursue.
This I prescribe, the Remedy I take,
A lonely Cottage my Asylum make:
Tho' plain, 'tis neat, and wholesome to the Eye,
And out of Danger from the Enemy:
No Rich I envy that in Splendor rise,
No Poverty in any Shape despise:
But pure Contentment reigns within my Breast,
And what I have, I share among my Guest:
If this is Merit, 'tis the All I claim;
But yet methinks it scarce deserves the Name.
The joking God, says MOMUS, stood amaz'd,
And JUPITER with Admiration gaz'd.
To you Celestial Goddess, JOVE then said,
A Crown of Glory hovers o'er your Head:
But --- those little Infants in your Arms,
That spread a Lustre to your mighty Charms,,
I may presume they do you Parent call;
Reply'd the Goddess, -- by Adoption's all.
One Evening at my Door, the Lambs were laid,
Fast bound, like Sheep that's to the Slaughter led;
The Canopy of Heaven o'er them spread,
And the cold Earth was destin'd for their Bed:
I heard their piteous Cries, the Infants moan;
I took them in, and nurs'd them as my own.
O glorious Maid! this Act alone will prove
Thy heavenly Virtue; Witness all above.
The Temple thou hast gain'd, 'tis thy Reward,
Which future Times, thy Title shall record.
Spoke great Jove; his Thunder Bolts let fly,
And summon'd all the Gods to Victory.
The Gods and Goddesses in bright Array,
Gave their Attendance on the Jovial Day;
CERES was order'd to lay in a Store,
And BACCHUS pick and cull the Vintage o'er:
A Feast prepar'd to crown the happy Maid,
And to the Temple straight she was convey'd.
The Fifes and Tabors, Timbrels, march along,
The Choristers of ev'ry Wood here sung:
Immortal Praise they gave the Deity,
Allow'd true Virtue lay in CHARITY.