Since Dorset is my constant toast;
Nor need the gayer world be told
That Dorset never can grow old;
And with unerring truth agree,
There’s none so young, so blithe as he,
With sprightly wit his jokes abound,
Well-bred, he deals good-humour round;
The maid forgets her fav’rite swain,
When Dorset speaks, he fights in vain;
The lover too, do all he can,