In vain you lie, sad Magdalene

In vain you lie, sad Magdalene, O'er a Death's Head indulging Spleen; Few Nymphs, that haunt this deathful Place, Your penitential Footsteps trace; Perhaps a Lady, now and then, Who gives to God, what's loath'd by Men, Then either quit this Scene, or wear The Habit of a modern Fair; Reform that pensive Look to gay, And put that frightful Thing away. Then if at length you lie reclin'd, 'Twill raise no Horror in the Mind; All will your Attitude admire, And to be Magdalenes aspire.