mselves a _human Tart_,
A _walking Pastry-Shop_, a _Gut_,
Shambles by Wholesale to inglut;
And gorge each high-concocted Mess
The art of Cookery can dress:
Yet spite of all, when _Death_ thinks fit
To take them off, lest t' other bit
Shou'd burst these _living Mummies_, able
Neither to eat, nor quit the Table;
Whether He Dropsy sends or Gout,
To fetch them by the Shoulders out;
Tho' living they were _Salt_ and _Spice_,
The carcase is not over nice;
And all may find, who have a _Nose_,
_Dead Aldermen_ are not a rose.

This reas'ning only serves to shew,
The world call'd _Natural_, is so.
But various instances proclaim,
'Tis in the _moral World_ the same.
Thus _Woman_, Nature's _chastest_ work,
_Lust-struck_, out-paramours the Turk;
Tho' _gentle_ as the suckling Child,
_Enrag'd_, than famish'd Wolves more wild;
A more fell minister of _Death_--
_Rime_ gives the instance in _Mackbeth_.

_Reason herself_, that _sober Dame_,
So mild, so temperate, so tame,
Her head once turn'd, and giddy grown,
Raving with phrenzy not her own,
Plays madder pranks, more full of spleen
Than any Hoyden of sixteen.
Whether she burns with _Love_ or _Hate_,
Or grows with _baseless Hopes_ elate,
With _Desperation_ is forlorn,
Or with imagin'd horrors torn,
If on _Ambition_'s swelling tide,
Her crazy bark from side to side,
Reels like a drunkard, tempest-tost,
Or in the _Gulph of Pride_ is lost;
Whate'er the _leading Passion_ be,
That works the Soul's anxiety,
In each _Extreme_ th' effect is bad,
_Sense_ grows diseas'd, and _Reason_ mad.

Why shou'd the Muse of _Angels_ tell
Turn'd into _Devils_ when they fell?
Why search the Chronicles of _Hell_,
While _Earth_ examples it as well?
Why talk of _Satan_, while we see
Each day some new Apostacy?
_Tories_ to _Whigs_ convert, and _Whigs_,
_Mere Ministerial Whirlegigs_,
Turn'd by the hand of _Int'rest_, take
The _Tory-part_, for Lucre's sake.
_Patriots_ turn _Placemen_, and support
Against their Country's good the Court;
Are bought with _Pensions_ to retire,
When drooping Kingdoms most require
Their aid----Tho' here the Muse wou'd fain
_Except_ ONE of the _pension'd Train_,
(_One_ meritorious 'bove the rest,
A _patriot Minister_, confest)
Yet strict