My muse, in tatter’d low condition,
Would fain attempt, if you’ll allow,
To dedicate a song to you.
Possess’d of few attractive pow’rs,
Her case does much resemble yours;
So lest none else should deign to hear,
She humbly supplicates your ear.
Imprimis, she should compliment ye;
A Venus or Diana paint ye;
Count o’er your virtues by the hunder,