A charm that seldom fails with wicked you. }
}
A country lip may have the velvet touch; }
Though she's no lady, you may think her such: }
A strong imagination may do much. }
But you, loud sirs, who through your curls look big,
Critics in plume and white vallancy wig,
Who, lolling, on our foremost benches sit,
And still charge first, the true forlorn of wit;
Whose favours, like the sun, warm where you roll,