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 strictest honour can't acquit That _Pensioner_, who once was _P----_. Instance on instance to my view Come rushing, of the changeling crew, That I could quarrel with my Nature, To think that Man is such a Creature-- And are we all a fickle tribe, Venal to ev'ry golden bribe? Is there not one of honour found, In all the List of _Placemen_ found? Yes--_one_ there is, in perils tried, Yet never known to _change his Side_, Or _Principles_--nor think it strange, He ne'er had _Principles_ to change, And for a _Side_ (the proof is new) He's _none_, because that _he has two_. Throw him from _Party_'s giddy heights, A _Cat in Politics_ he lights Ever upon his feet; his heart Clings both to _Whig_ and _Tory-part_; Is _this_, is _that_, is _both_, or _neither_, And still keeps shifting with the Weather. Who does not know that _T--s--d_'s he, That reads the _Book of Ministry_?