A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart

Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

But Touch Me, And No Minister So Sore. Whoe'er Offends, At Some Unlucky Time Slides Into Verse, And Hitches In A Rhyme, Sacred To Ridicule His Whole Life Long, And The Sad Burthen Of Some Merry Song.

That Character In Conversation Which Commonly Passes For Agreeable Is Made Up Of Civility And Falsehood.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

If A Man's Character Is To Be Abused There's Nobody Like A Relative To Do The Business.