Epitaph of Bye-Words

Here lies a round woman, who thought mighty odd
Every word she e'er heard in this church about God.
To convince her of God the good Dean did endeavour,
But still in her heart she held Nature more clever.
Tho' he talk'd much of virtue, her head always run
Upon something or other, she found better fun:
For the dame, by her skill in affairs astronomical,
Imagined, to live in the clouds was but comical.
In this world, she despised ev'ry soul she met here,
And now she's in t'other, she thinks it but queer.