ON MAN. A satire.  By a Person of Honour. 
To what Intent and Purpose was Man made,  
Who is by Birth to Misery betrayed!  
That in this slender Course of Life runs through  
More Plagues than all the Land of Egypt knew.  
Doctors, Divines, great Dispensations, Punns,  
Ill-lookt Citizens, and scurvy Dunns,  
Conceited Laureates, dull, long Operas,  
And those that ne'er were Poets, yet write Plays;  
Insipid Squires, fat Bishops, Deans and Chapters,  
Enthusiasts, Prophecies, new Rants and Raptures;  
Pox, Gouts, Catarrhs, old Sores, Cramps, Rheums, and Aches,  
Half-witted Lords, double-chinned Bawds with Patches;  
Illiterate Courtiers, Chancery-suits for Life,  
A tracing Whore, and a most tedious Wife;  
Raw Inneses-of-court-man, empty Fops, Buffoons,  
Bullies Robust, raw Aldermen, and Clown's.  
Gownsmen that argue about, discuss, and prate,  
And vent dull Notions of a future State;  
Sure of another World, and do not know  
Whether they shall be saved, or damned, or how.  
'Twere better therefore that Men had ne'er been,  
Than thus Unfortunate. God save the Queen.  
FINIS.