But perhaps while thus boldly exposing each elf

But perhaps while thus boldly exposing each elf,
A dupe or to passion, or folly, or pelf,
I the critic severest become of myself,
Presuming to hope for your favours—
What is it to me who sings great or sings-small,
Or whether knave first every knave likes to call,
Or whose roguish, or honest—Lord nothing at all
But to eke out the crotchets and quavers.

Advice from a lawyer, a smile from his grace,
From a hypocrite treachery, with a smooth face,
From a bishop a blessing, a gamester ames ace,
The public receive for their favours:
Thus in their vocation all earnestly join,
For what should a man circulate but his own coin?
Let me humbly entreat then you'll not refuse mine,
Though compos'd but of crotchets and quavers.

Every piece is full weight, nor debas'd by vile art,
Sterling gratitude still will be found in each part,
The lively impression was made on my heart,
For what less can purchase your favours?
Thus I fearless submit it to pass through your mint,
When assay'd, should you find there's no counterfeit in't,
The stamp of your kind approbation imprint,
To pass current my crotchets and quavers.