Thus plain'd the boys, when from her throne of turf,
With boils emboss'd, and overgrown with scurf,
Vile humours, which, in life's corrupted well
Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could quell,
Pale FAMINE rear'd the head; her eager eyes,
Where hunger e'en to madness seem'd to rise,
Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart,
Strain'd to get loose, and from their orbs to start;
Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-sunk cell,
Where wretchedness and horror lov'd to dwell;
With double rows of useless teeth supplied,
Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide,
Which, when for want of food her entrails pin'd,
She op'd, and cursing swallow'd nought but wind;
All shrivell'd was her skin; and here and there,
Making their way by force, her bones lay bare;
Such filthy sight to hide from human view,
O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd Plaid she threw.