Another Epigram

ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When depriv’d of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he’d show’d her,
She reduc’d him to dust and she drank up the powder.

But Queen Netherplace, of a diff’rent complexion,
When call’d on to order the funeral direction,
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence,
Not to shew her respect, but-to save the expense.