So I (with rev'rence be it spoken)
Of such a Guest am no bad token;
In  chamber ever rumbling,
Her Pamphlets, and her Papers tumbling,
Displacing all the things she places,
And, as is usual in such cases,
Making her cut most sad wry faces.
Yet, spite of all this rebel rout,
She's too well bred to let me out,
For fear you squeamish Nymphs at Court
(Virgins of not the best report)
Should on the tale malicious dwell,
When me you see, or of me tell.