When Nature saw she'd made a perfect man
She broke the mould and threw away the pieces,
Which being found by Satan, he began
And stuck the bits together--hence the creases,
The twists, the crooked botches, that we find--
Sad counterfeits of Nature's perfect moulding;
Hearts wrongly placed--a topsy-turvy mind--
Things that deserve the scorn of all beholding.
It needs no oracle in Delphic shade
To name the model from which thou wert made.