As suits their will.
Oh! list my tale, fair maids of Britain!
This subject fain I’d try my wit on,
And show the rock you’re apt to split on:
Then cry not—“Pish!”—
You’re all (I’m glad the thought I hit on)
Just flying fish!
Beauty, does nature’s hand bestow it?
It swells your pride, and plain you show it;
Though wealthy cit, and airy poet