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