The Liberty*
Shall I be one of those obsequious fools,
That square their lives by Custom’s scanty rules;
Condemned for ever to the puny curse,
Of precepts taught, at boarding-school, or nurse,
That all the business of my life must be
Foolish, dull, trifling, formality.
Confined to a strict magic complaisance,
And round a circle of nice visits dance,
Nor for my life beyond the chalk advance:
The devil Censure stands to guard the same, [10]
One step awry, he tears my vent’rous fame.
So when my friends, in a facetious vein,
With mirth and wit, a while can entertain;
Though ne’er so pleasant, yet I must not stay,
If a commanding clock bids me away:
But with a sudden start, as in a fright,
I must be gone indeed, ’tis after eight.
Sure these restraints, with such regret we bear,
That dreaded censure, can’t be more severe,
Which has no terror, if we did not fear; [20]
But let the bug-bear tim’rous infants fright,
I’ll not be scared from innocent delight:
Whatever is not vicious, I dare do,
I’ll never to the idol Custom bow,
Unless it suits with my own humour too.
Some boast their fetters of formality,
Fancy they ornamental bracelets be,
I’m sure they’re gyves, and manacles to me.
To their dull fulsome rules, I’d not be tied,
For all the flattery that exalts their pride: [30]
My sex forbids I should my silence break,
I lose my jest, ’cause women must not speak.
Mysteries must not be with my search prophaned,
My closet not with books, but sweet-meats crammed,
A little china, to advance the show,
My Prayer Book, and Seven Champions, or so.
My pen if ever used employed must be
In lofty themes of useful housewifery,
Transcribing old receipts of cookery:
And what is necessary ’mongst the rest, [40]
Good cure for agues, and a cancered breast;
But I can’t here write my Probatum est.
My daring pen will bolder sallies make,
And like my self, an unchecked freedom take;
Not chained to the nice order of my sex,
And with restraints my wishing soul perplex:
I’ll blush at sin, and not what some call shame,
Secure my virtue, slight precarious fame.
This courage speaks me brave, ’tis surely worse
To keep those rules which privately we curse: [50]
And I’ll appeal to all the formal saints,
With what reluctance they endure restraints.