Satire Is A Kind Of Poetry In

But When To Sin Our Biased Nature Leans, The Careful Devil Is Still At Hand With Means; And Providently Pimps For Ill Desires.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.

As One That Neither Seeks, Nor Shuns His Foe.

When Beauty Fires The Blood, How Love Exalts The Mind!

All Authors To Their Own Defects Are Blind.