Once of philosophers they told us stories,

Whom, as I think, they called–Py—Pythagories;—

I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give 'em,

And we, who know no better, must believe 'em.

Now to these men (say they) such souls were given,

That after death ne'er went to hell nor heaven,

But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then,

When many years were passed, in men again.

Methinks, we players resemble such a soul;

That does from bodies, we from houses stroll.

Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,

May now be damned to animate an ass;

Or in this very house, for aught we know,

Is doing painful penance in some beau.