Polly’s birthday

'Tis wond'rous hard

A licensed bard

Can only now be witty,

Or dare rehearse

In hide bound verse

His lamentable ditty.

So I'll not sing

Of George our King,

But of angelick Polly.

'Tis her birthday,

Let all be gay,

Let ev'ry soul be jolly.

Within her face

Shines ev'ry grace

Can give beholders pleasure.

Her heav'n born mind

Is most refin'd,

'Tis truth and virtue's treasure.

Of all approv'd,

By all belov'd,

Most noble is her spirit;

So he's an ass

That baulks his glass

To so much worth and merit.