What gives us that fantastic fit,
That all our judgment and our wit
To vulgar custom we submit?
Treason, theft, murder, and all the rest
Of that foul legion we so detest,
Are in their proper names express'd.
Why is it then thought sin or shame
Those necessary parts to name,
From whence we went, and whence we came?
Nature, whate'er she wants, requires;
With love inflaming our desires,
Finds engines fit to quench those fires.
Death she abhors; yet when men die
We are present; but no stander by
Looks on when we that loss supply.
Forbidden wares sell twice as dear;
Even sack, prohibited last year,
A most abominable rate did bear.
'Tis plain our eyes and ears are nice,
Only to raise, by that device,
Of those commodities the price.
Thus reason's shadows us betray,
By tropes and figures led astray,
From Nature, both her guide and way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem