Spoken by
LordFoppington.
Gentlemen and Ladies,
ThesePeople have regal'd you here to-day(In my Opinion) with a saucy Play;In which the Author does presume to shew,That Coxcomb,ab Origine—was Beau.Truly I think the thing of so much weight,}That if some sharp Chastisement ben't his Fate,}Gad's Curse, it may in time destroy the State.}I hold no one its Friend, I must confess,Who wou'd discauntenance you Men of Dress.Far, give me leave t'abserve, good Clothes are ThingsHave ever been of great Support to Kings:All Treasons come fram Slovens; it is natWithin the reach of Gentle Beaux to plat;They have no Gall; no Spleen, no Teeth, no Stings,Of all Gad's Creatures, the most harmless Things.Thro' all Recard, no Prince was ever slainBy one who had a Feather in his Brain,They're Men of too refin'd an Education,To squabble with a Court—for a vile dirty Nation.I'm very pasitive, you never sawA tho'ro' Republican a finish'd Beau.Nor truly shall you very often seeAJacobitemuch better drest than he:In short, thro' all the Courts that I have been in,Your Men of Mischief—still are in faul Linen.Did ever one yet dance theTyburnJigg,With a free Air, or a well pawder'd Wig?Did ever Highway-man yet bid you stand,With a sweet bawdy Snuff-Box in his Hand?Ar do you ever find they ask your PurseAs Men of Breeding do?——Ladies, Gad's Curse,This Author is a Dag, and 'tis not fitYou shou'd allow him e'en one Grain of Wit:To which, that his Pretence may ne'er be nam'd,My humble Motion is——he may be damn'd.
ThesePeople have regal'd you here to-day(In my Opinion) with a saucy Play;In which the Author does presume to shew,That Coxcomb,ab Origine—was Beau.Truly I think the thing of so much weight,}That if some sharp Chastisement ben't his Fate,}Gad's Curse, it may in time destroy the State.}I hold no one its Friend, I must confess,Who wou'd discauntenance you Men of Dress.Far, give me leave t'abserve, good Clothes are ThingsHave ever been of great Support to Kings:All Treasons come fram Slovens; it is natWithin the reach of Gentle Beaux to plat;They have no Gall; no Spleen, no Teeth, no Stings,Of all Gad's Creatures, the most harmless Things.Thro' all Recard, no Prince was ever slainBy one who had a Feather in his Brain,They're Men of too refin'd an Education,To squabble with a Court—for a vile dirty Nation.I'm very pasitive, you never sawA tho'ro' Republican a finish'd Beau.Nor truly shall you very often seeAJacobitemuch better drest than he:In short, thro' all the Courts that I have been in,Your Men of Mischief—still are in faul Linen.Did ever one yet dance theTyburnJigg,With a free Air, or a well pawder'd Wig?Did ever Highway-man yet bid you stand,With a sweet bawdy Snuff-Box in his Hand?Ar do you ever find they ask your PurseAs Men of Breeding do?——Ladies, Gad's Curse,This Author is a Dag, and 'tis not fitYou shou'd allow him e'en one Grain of Wit:To which, that his Pretence may ne'er be nam'd,My humble Motion is——he may be damn'd.