Yet if you will tip me a Guinea;
By the help of my Rhimes,
To the latest of Times,
Thou shalt have thy Adorers dear Jenny.
We Bards have a knack,
To turn White into Black,
And make Vice seem Vertue, which odd is;
True Poetical Cant,
Dubbs a Rebel a Saint,
And refines a Jilt into a Goddess.