The
HEROINES
,
or
Modern
Memoirs
,
By
the
Same
.
IN
ancient
times
,
some
hundred
winters
past
,
When
British
dames
,
for
conscience
sake
,
were
chaste
,
If
some
frail
nymph
,
by
youthful
passion
sway'd
,
From
virtue's
paths
unhappily
had
stray'd
:
When
banish'd
reason
re-assum'd
her
place
,
The
conscious
wretch
bewail'd
her
foul
disgrace
;
Fled
from
the
world
,
and
pass'd
her
joyless
years
In
decent
solitude
and
pious
tears
;
Veil'd
in
some
convent
made
her
peace
with
heaven
,
And
almost
hop'd
—
by
Prudes
to
be
forgiven
.
Not
so
of
modern
wh—res
th'
illustrious
train
,
Renown'd
Constantia
,
P—ton
and
V—ne
;
Grown
old
in
sin
,
and
dead
to
amorous
joy
,
No
acts
of
penance
their
great
souls
employ
.
Without
a
blush
behold
each
nymph
advance
,
The
luscious
Heroine
of
her
own
romance
.
Each
harlot
triumphs
in
her
loss
of
fame
,
And
boldly
prints
and
publishes
her
shame
.