She made it plain, that Human Passion
Was order'd by Predestination;
That, if weak Women went astray,
Their Stars were more in Fault than They:
Whole Tragedies She had by Heart;
Enter'd into  Part:
To Triumph in her Rival's Blood,
The Action certainly was good.
How like a Vine young  curl'd!
Oh that dear Conqu'ror of the World!
She pity'd  in Age,
That ridicul'd the God-like Rage.