'Tis an act of the priest to give patience a test;
'Tis a desperate hope, and a serious jest;
'Tis catching a dolt, when his wit is suspended;
'Tis a toil, where the labour can never be ended;
'Tis a leap in the dark, which both parties agree
To perform hand in hand, though they neither can see;
'Tis walking through mines filled with sulphurous vapour,
Where to find out a path, you must brandish a taper;
'Tis like Tantalus' feast, where the good does but seem,
And both ope their eyes, though they're both in a dream;
'Tis going to sea, in a black stormy night,
Which reason calls madness, but custom delight:
For Wedlock's a minx who deceives by her sleekness,
As Craft wove a cloak to envelop her weakness.
'Tis a comical, tragical, fiery ordeal,
Where the ploughshares are hot, and your faith is not real.