Queen Of Wit And Beauty, Betty, Never May The Muse Forget Ye, How Thy Face Charms Every Shepherd, Spotted Over Like A Leopard! And Thy Freckled Neck, Display'D, Envy Breeds In Every Maid; Like A Fly-Blown Cake Of Tallow, Or On Parchment Ink Turn'D Yellow; Or A Tawny Speckled Pippin, Shrivell'D With A Winter'S Keeping. And, Thy Beauty Thus Dispatch'D, Let Me Praise Thy Wit Unmatch'D. Sets Of Phrases, Cut And Dry, Evermore Thy Tongue Supply; And Thy Memory Is Loaded With Old Scraps From Plays Exploded; Stock'D With Repartees And Jokes, Suited To All Christian Folks: Shreds Of Wit, And Senseless Rhymes, Blunder'D Out A Thousand Times; Nor Wilt Thou Of Gifts Be Sparing, Which Can Ne'er Be Worse For Wearing. Picking Wit Among Collegians, In The Playhouse Upper Regions; Where, In The Eighteen-Penny Gallery, Irish Nymphs Learn Irish Raillery. But Thy Merit Is Thy Failing, And Thy Raillery Is Railing. Thus With Talents Well Endued To Be Scurrilous And Rude; When You Pertly Raise Your Snout, Fleer And Gibe, And Laugh And Flout; This Among Hibernian Asses For Sheer Wit And Humour Passes. Thus Indulgent Chloe, Bit, Swears You Have A World Of Wit.