ཧོ

In greasy order o'er the front be spread,

The whole a peruque *, fye on natʼral hair.

The deaden'd lustre of that once bright eye,

The tinge vermilion with white lead conjoin'd, Fain would revive, while health's rose blooming dye,

By dissipation long hath been parloin'd.

Naked the arms, the shoulders too are bare,

Lest calves and ancles blush men's eyes to meet In silk array'd; while crimson † clocks compare To flames of fire on Satan's cloven feet.

* As to nature, she has literally no more to do with modern taste in this particular, than a magpie has occasion for a Greek lexicon. How, in the name of common sense, should the simple goddess define what is so suitable to our complexions as we ourselves can? besides, what would become of Mr. Collick the hair-merchant, and the nume rous gentlemen of Mr. Vicary's calling-No lady of ton can possibly think of less than ten wigs in constant wear, in short, there should be one suited to every look and to every passion.

†The diversity of coloured silk stockings, which have graced the legs of our Belles, has conduced, it is imagined, to heighten their predeliction for making those

No more must female beauties be conceal'd,
Poor decency, alas! hath had a fall;
For men were us'd to wed charms unreveal'd;
But now they marry what is known to all.

L'ENVOY OF the poet.

Though common decency implores in vain, Still must I counsel, and the truth disclose; For nakedness ensures rheumatic pain,

So be advis'd, my maids, put on your clothes.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come trim the boat, row on each Rara Avis, Crowds flock to man my Stultifera Navis. ·

limbs so very public, by a uniform method now adopted of twitching up the gown on one side as high as the garter, "Honi soit qui mal y pense."

Some fashionables, however, have not confined these harlequinade hose to their own legs, but have equipped even their lacqueys in variegated stockings. We do not, however, mean by this, any comparison whatsoever with the bas jaunátre of our blue-coat boys, the former being the insignias of puppyism and folly, whereas the latter, are the united badges of charity, wisdom, and science.

SECTION III.

OF OLD FOOLS-VIZ. THE LONGER THEY LIVE THE MORE THEY ARE GIVEN TO FOLLY.

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.

Spite of the winters thou hast told,

Thy frozen blood, thy visage old,

Thy reason still is mute :

'Tis not the infancy of age

That lulls thy sense-'tis still the rage

To wear the youthful suit.

SOLOMON.

Thine hairs of honour turn'd quite grey,
By thee contemn'd, are shorn away,
In flaxen tresses 'ray'd* ;

Every reader must allow the justice of these remarks of the poet, for even the most casual observer cannot saunter down Bond Street in the fashionable season, without witnessing living objects of this cast, whose grey hairs,

Instead of suit demure I see,

Thy wither'd frame in foppery
Through Bond Street oft parade.

I hear no precepts from thy tongue,
To check th' imprudence of the young,
Thyself more fool than they ;
Experience having knock'd in vain
To gain admittance to thy brain,
Obscur'd is wisdom's ray.

The wise contemn, the young deride,
For thee respect is e'en deny'd ;
From sentiment exempt;

the insignias of age, and the ensurers of respect, are shaven off; while in their place is substituted a curly boyish wig, accompanied with the extravagant livery of the latest fashion, and gouty feet wedged into thin dress pumps, which, notwithstanding their natty appearance convince the wearer at every step, by the acuteness of the twinge endured, that the guise of youth does not become him. Yet, all in vain, he bids defiance to advice, nor heeds the poet who exclaims,

Sperne voluptates, nocet empta dolore voluptas.

Thy death-bed views thee void of friend,
When gone, no tongue laments thine end,
Thy passing knell's-Contempt

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

The hoary head, with wisdom's radiance crown'd,
Lives to inculcate what experience taught;
In death bequeathing this bright truth profound,
I liv'd to learn-left others wisdom fraught.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come trim the boat, row on each Rara Avis,
Crowds flock to man my Stultifera Navis.

*It is most assuredly a matter of serious regret, that the vain folly of old persons is far more detrimental to the rising generation than to themselves. With what degree of confidence, let me ask, can the preceptor and instructor produce as an example, such a father to the pupil he is tutoring? If his lessons are correct, they must inevitably hold up the parent in a contemptible and debased point of view; and if, on the other hand, he vin dicates the follies of the father, he extends the fostering hand to vice, and thus willingly contaminates the mind which he was imperiously called upon to rear in the paths of science, virtue, and honour.

A testa bianca spesso cervello manca.