Classic Poem

'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.