And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn old age, sorely worn-out
I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn! heap of stones
and
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of misguided whim;
and
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle; Ravens, sort, ticklish
couplets of which Pope need hardly have been ashamed, with such touches of nature as these: