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The Temple of Fame.
Ours is the Place at Banquets, Balls and Plays;
Sprightly our Nights, polite are all our Days;
Courts we frequent, where 'tis our pleasing Care
To pay due Visits, and address the Fair:
In fact, 'tis true, no Nymph we cou'd persuade,
But still in Fancy vanquish'd ev'ry Maid;
Of unknown Dutchesses leud Tales we tell,
Yet would the World believe us, all were well.
The Joy let others have, and we the Name,
And what we want in Pleasure, grant in Fame.
The Queen assents, the Trumpet rends the Skies,
And at each Blast a Lady's Honour dies.
Pleas'd with the strange Success, vast Numbers prest
Around the Shrine, and made the same Request:
What
