Away — away — behold an hideous band,
An herd of all thy minions are at hand:
Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,
And ever looks around her as she walks,
With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch,
And prompt to listen at her neighbour's latch.
Next Scandal's meagre shade,
Foe to the virgins, and the Poet's fame,
A wither'd, time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne'er enjoy'd Love's ever sacred flame.
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands, and plods upon her book.
Next comes illiberal scambling Avarice,
Then Vanity and Affectation nice —
See, she salutes her shadow with a bow,
As in short Gallic trips she minces by,
Starting Antipathy is in her eye,
And squeamishly she knits her scornful brow.
To thee, Ill-nature, all the numerous group
With lowly reverence stoop —
They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay,
Away — thou art infectious — haste away,