Enigma

No lady will blush when I'm plac'd by her side, But oft with a sash, to adorn me takes pride; No head, arms, or legs can I boast of, 'tis true, And backs I possess to the number of two. My entrails are many, and what is more strange, Their number and quality frequently change; By working too often, I grow very lean, 'Till bowel nor entrail have I to be seen. Pray do not imagine my service pretence, When man is amended much at my expense. Adieu to you all, for your wits will devise The name of this strange enigmatical prize, That often cements the most distant of friends, Nor leaves the pursuit till he's come to his ends.