The jolly glutton grew in bulk and chin,

Feasted on rapine, and enjoyed her sin;

With luxury she did weak reason force,

Debauched good-nature, and cram'd down remorse;

Yet when she drank cold tea in liberal sups,

The sobbing dame was maudling in her cups.

But brutal Tarquin never did relent,

Too hard to melt, too wicked to repent;

Cruel in deeds, more merciless in will,

And blest with natural delight in ill.