The listening Lords to cozen;[[63]]

If but one whisker lost its hue,

Changed (like Moll Coggin’s tail) to blue,

I’d hear them by the dozen.

II.

But still, howe’er you draw your bow,[[64]]

Your charms improve, your triumphs grow,

New grace adorns your figure;

More stiff your boots, more black your stock,

10