As  Kings discrete and wise,
After long Thought and grave Advice,
Into  Coffin peeping,
Saw nought to cause their Mirth or Weeping:
So  now to Joy or Grief
Superior, finds her late Relief:
Weary'd of being High, or Great,
And nodding in her Chair of State;
Stun'd and worn out with endless Chat,
Of  did this, and  said that;
She finds, poor Thing, some little Crack,
Which Nature, forc'd by Time, must make;
Thro' which She wings her destin'd Way:
Upward She soars; and down drops Clay:
While some surviving Friend supplies
, and a hundred Lies.