Reisbrank, no longer let thy Art be shown In forming Monsters from the Parian Stone; Chuse for this Work a Stump of Crooked Thorn, Or Log of Poyson-tree, from India born; There carve a Pert, but yet a Rueful Face, Half Man, Half Monkey, own'd by neither Race: Be his Crown picked, to one Side reclin'd, Be to his Neck his Buttocks closely join'd, With Breast protuberans, and Belly thin, Bones all distorted, shrivel'd be his Skin. This his mishapen Form — But say what Art Can shape the monstrous Image of his Heart, Compos'd of Malice, Envy, Discontent, Like his Limbs Crooked, like them Impotent? But, Reisbrank, since by thee this can't be done, Nor will these Passions live in Wood or Stone, Thine be the Task to carve his Carcas foul, The DUNCIAD only can describe his SOUL.
