As for my head it should ambiguous wear
At once a perriwig and its own hair.
My hair I'd powder in the women's way,
And dress and talk of dreffing more than they.
I'll please the maids of honour, if I can ;
Without black velvet breeches, what is man?
I will my skill in button-holes difplay,
And brag how oft I fhift me every day.
Shall I wear cloaths in aukward England made ?
And sweat in cloth, to help the woollen trade?
In French embroid'ry and in Flanders lace
I'll spend the income of a treasurer's place.
Deard's bill for baubles fhall to thousands mount,
And I'd out-di'mond even the di'mond count.
I would convince the world by tawdry cloaths
That belles are less effeminate than beaux,
And doctor Lamb should pare my lordship's toes.
To boon companions I my time would give,
With players, pimps, and parafites I'd live.
I would with jockeys from Newmarket dine,
And to rough-riders give my choicest wine;
I would carefs fome ftableman of note,
And imitate his language and his coat.
My ev'nings all I would with sharpers spend,
And make the thief-catcher my bosom friend.
In Fig the prize-fighter by day delight,
And fup with Colley Cibber ev'ry night.
Should I perchance be fashionably ill, I'll fend for Mifaubin, and take his pill. I should abhor, though in the utmost need, Arbuthnot, Hollins, Wigan, Lee, or Mead; But if I found that I grew worse and worse, I'd turn off Mifaubin and take a nurse. How oft when eminent phyficians fail, Do good old women's remedies prevail? When beauty's gone, and Chloe's ftruck with years, Eyes she can touch, or she can fyringe ears. Of graduates I dislike the learned rout,
And chufe a female doctor for the gout.
Thus would I live, with no dull pedants curs'd, Sure, of all blockheads, scholars are the worst. Back to your univerfities, ye fools,
And dangle arguments on strings in schools:
Those schools which Universities they call,
'Twere well for England were there none at all,
With ease that lofs the nation might sustain,
Supply'd by Goodman's fields and Drury-lane.
Oxford and Cambridge are not worth one farthing,
Compar'd to Haymarket and Covent-garden :
Quit thofe, ye British youth, and follow these,
Turn players all, and take your 'fquires degrees.
Boaft not your incomes now, as heretofore,
Ye book-learn'd feats! the theatres have more :
Ye ftiff-rump'd heads of colleges be dumb;
A fingle Eunuch gets a larger fum.
Booth, Rich, and Cibber, twice three thousand clear. Should Oxford to her fifter Cambridge join
A year's rack-rent, and arbitrary fine:
Thence not one winter's charge would be defray'd,
For play-house, opera, ball, and masquerade.
Glad I congratulate the judging age,
The players are the world, the world the stage.
I am a politician too, and hate.
Of any party, ministers of state:
I'm for an Act, that he, who sev'n whole years
Has ferv'd his king and country, lofe his ears.
Thus from my birth I'm qualified you find,
To give the laws of Taste to human kind.
Mine are the gallant schemes of politeffe,
For books, and buildings, politicks, and dress.
This is true Tafte, and whoso likes it not,
Is blockhead, coxcomb, puppy, fool, and fot.
By BENJAMIN STILLINGFLEET.
Oderunt bilarem triftes, triftemque jocofi,
Sedatum celeres, agilem gnavumque remissi.
HE art of converse, how to footh the foul
Of haughty man, his paffions to controul,
His pride at once to humble and to please,
And join the dignity of life with ease,
Be now my theme. O thou, whom Nature's hand
Fram'd for this beft, this delicate command,
And taught when lifping, without reafon's aid,
At the fame time to speak and to perfuade,
WYNDHAM, with diligence awhile attend,
Nor fcorn th' inftructions of an older friend;
Who when the world's great commerce shall have join'd
The deep reflection, and the strengh of mind,
To the bright talents of thy youthful ftate,
In turn fhall on thy better lessons wait.
Whence comes it, that in every art we fee
Many can rife to a fupreme degree;
Yet in this art, for which all feem defign'd
By nature, fcarcely one compleat we find ?
You'll fay, perhaps, we think, we speak, we move,
By the strong springs alone of selfish love :
Yet among all the species, is there one,
Whom with more caution than ourselves, we fhun?
What is it fills a puppet-show or court?
Go none but for the profit or the sport ?
If fo, why comes each foul fatigu'd away,
And curfes the dull puppets fame dull play;
Yet, unconvinc'd, is tempted still to go ?
"Tis that we find at home our greatest foe.
And reafon good why folitude we flee ;
Can wants with felf-fufficiency agree?
Yet, fuch our inconfiftency of mind,
We court fociety, and hate mankind.
With fome we quarrel, for they're too fincere :
With others, for they're clofe, referv'd and queer:
This is too learn'd, too prudent, or too wife;
And that we for his ignorance despise :
A voice perhaps our ear shall harshly strike,
Then ftrait ev'n wit itself shall raise dislike;
Our eye may by fome feature be annoy'd,
Behold at once a character destroy'd :
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