You thought to make a farce on
The man and place we chose;
We're sure a single parson
Is worth a hundred beaux.
And you would make us vassals,
Good Mr. Wig and Wings,
To silver clocks and tassels;
You would, you Thing of Things!
Because around your cane
A ring of diamonds is set;
And you, in some by-lane,
Have gain'd a paltry grisette;
Shall we, of sense refined,
Your trifling nonsense bear,
As noisy as the wind,
As empty as the air?
We hate your empty prattle;
And vow and swear 'tis true,
There's more in one child's rattle,
Than twenty fops like you.
THE BEAU'S REPLY TO THE FIVE LADIES' ANSWER
Why, how now, dapper black!
I smell your gown and cassock,
As strong upon your back,
As Tisdall[1] smells of a sock.
To write such scurvy stuff!
Fine ladies never do't;
I know you well enough,
And eke your cloven foot.
Fine ladies, when they write,
Nor scold, nor keep a splutter:
Their verses give delight,
As soft and sweet as butter.
But Satan never saw
Such haggard lines as these:
They stick athwart my maw,
As bad as Suffolk cheese.
[Footnote 1: Dr. William Tisdall, a clergyman in the north of Ireland,
who had paid his addresses to Mrs.
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