No more shall Duchesses to Bath repair, Or fly to Tunbridge to procure an Heir; Spring-Gardens can supply their every Want, For here whate'er they ask the Swain wil grant, And future Lords (if they'll confess the right) Shall owe their Being to this blessed Night; Hence future Wickedness shall take its Rise, (For Masquerade to this is paultry Vice) An Aera of new Crimes shall hence begin, And H----gg----r chief Devil be of Sin; No more shall Ugliness be his Disgrace, His Head mends all the Frailties of his Face; When Masques and Balls to their Conclusion drew, To this his last Resort the Hero flew; So by degrees the Errant Knights of old To Glory rose, and by Degrees grew bold; A while content the common Road they trod, 'Till some great Act at last confess the God.