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31 God never made a thing like that,
In water, air, earth, fire;

No, 'tis of pride the monstrous brat,
And Satan is its sire.

32 See how it scuds with all its sails
Before the prince of air;

And, bounding forward, courts his gales,
Well of his port aware.

33 The savage woman, and the mad,
Hope to surmount your gauze,
Set up for queens, and wildly gad
In baubles, feathers, straws.

34 The old, by paint and powder try,
And tresses not their own,
Into the coxcombs arms to fly,
And hide the grizly crone.

35 These ancient pieces fashion give
To this promiscuous cheat,
That they again their lives may live,
And smuggle a new date.

36 Ye young and beautiful, how long
Shall senseless pride betray

Your blooming charms in such a throng
Of bedlams, young and gay?

37 Fashion is surely but a cheat,
If you are rich, how vain!
Why dress, if destitute of meat?

The beggar should go plain.

38 What slave would yield at his command, Not void of common sense,

To be a fool at second hand,

And at too great expense?

39 In one the beau and beggar seen!
On folly can it pass?

A mule like this hath never been
Gender'd by goose and ass.

40 How can the golden calves endure
Their hypocrites in wealth,

Who its appearance to procure,
On trust depend, or stealth?

41 'Twas Satan taught us first to wish
For luxury in meats;

From hence the far sought costly dish,
And hence our splendid treats.

42 Asham'd, we clothing then requir'd,
And clothes grew up to dress;
We pomp in dressing next admir'd,
Too haughty grown for less.

43 'Tis by comparison that things
Seem either great or small;
The viewer, e'er he sees them, brings
His measures of them all.

44 The little mind still magnifies
The objects of its sight,

The great, diminishes their size
To trifles, small and slight.

45 As man beholds a grain of sand,
This world an angel sees.

A mite sees mountains, level land,
A world too, in his cheese.

46 You who find greatness in your lace,
Or in your glittering stone;
Or think they add a single grace,
How little is your own!

47 What, vain of clothing, which you took
To hide your sin and shame!

To hide what cannot bear a look,
What cannot bear a name !

48 The slaves of fashion vaunt in view
Their pomps to poorer slaves,

That they may teach both me and you,
Not to be fools by halves.

49 They shew their splendour, great and high,
That we may raptur'd stare,
And that our little souls may cry,

'Oh dear! how rich they are!'

50 What folly here to look for taste! 'Tis more than gold can buy; Of wealth indeed there is a waste, But for the tasteless eye.

51 To them our envy and our praise
Are pretty near the same;
Yet our vulgarity at gaze

They poorly take for fame.

52 Who, by himself, to heaven will go,
And climb the lonely road,

Which upward treads thro' Alps of snow,
Deserted by the mode?

53 Who would not righteous strive to be,
If all men righteous were?

Or who hath sense enough to see,
When all men blindly err.

54 A singularity, tho' good,

The mode will not endure,
But takes it for a crazy mood,
Which bedlam cannot cure.

55 Yet, what can pride or fashion do
For their devoted slave,

But set him up for knaves to woo,
The fool of every knave?

56 When to the grave this fool goes down,
And ends his gaudy day,
What's left for glory or a crown?
A stinking lump of clay.

57 At fashion in its gaudy pride,
"Tis certain all the while,

Amidst his strut and haughty stride,
Death grins a ghastly smile.

58 Yet to the fashion of the times
The sexes both submit,

And live in folly, or in crimes,
Or both, as he thinks fit.

59 To fashion, as their god, they bow,
And low obedience pay;
From prince to beggar, they allow
No higher power to sway.

60 Their eating, drinking, he prescribes,
Their sleeping, dressing, rules:
The courts of all the human tribes

Are kept but as his schools.

61 Religion, reason, nature, now
Are banish'd from the great ;

Down from the sceptre to the plough,
In this all aim at state.

62 Sin, sickness, pain, and death ensue,
While fashion leads the train,
Eve's flaunting children to subdue
To his fastidious reign.

63 Yes, duellists from fashion draw
Of death, the dreadful sting;
The lawless gamesters own his law,
Of honour crown him king.

64 From him the pistol takes its charge,
The sword, its foining art,
While death invited stalks at large,
Or triumphs in his cart.

65 Two haughty fools, not satisfy'd,
That their opprobrious words,
Which is the scoundrel, can decide,
Must try it with their swords.
66 No greater cowards ever shook

At death's approach than these :
At his most mild and distant look
Their shivering bosoms freeze.

67 But fashion loudly clamours,' fight,'
'By no means,' cries their fear;
Yet still, that fashion dictates right,
Honour insists, is clear.

68 Honour! what honour can accrue
From sense of honour feign'd,
Or stupid courage, justly too
Of cowardice arraigned?

69 Can they despise both life and death,
And wish that both were past,

As if the first were but a breath
The second, but a blast?

70 Asham'd alike of prayer and dram,
To both they steal recourse;

Then fiercely swagger, curse, and damn,
A furious air to force.

71 Yet for the sheriff anxious long,
And wistful look around

Forget the insult, slight the wrong,
As they behold their ground.

72 Pray, don't recall them, for they go
To dissipate your fear.

'Tis dang'rous all their neighbours know,
To live within their sphere.

73 Who in a steeple, near the bell,
Would wish to make his bed?
Who in a powder-mill would dwell,
Who elsewhere had a shed?

74 The caitiffs go as desperate men,
Insur'd by priest and pope;
Yet either, if he comes again,
Should cost the king a rope.

75 Two sorts of infidels are found,
Who accident advance

Into the place of God, and ground
Their wish and hope on chance.

76 The first is of that atheist head,
Which thinks, no plan was laid
For this creation, but, instead,

The world by chance was made; 77 The second, of that atheist heart, Which would exclude all rule

Of Providence, but his own art
To catch and fleece the fool.

78 By gaming this is brought about,
That most atrocious vice,

Which fashion, at the drum and rout,
Adores in cards and dice.

79 To these and such assemblies now
The great and rich repair;
To chance, their God, obsequious bow,
And pay their offerings there.

80 The same devotion sharpers too,
Like hypocrites, pretend,

But, 'midst the dolts, by art pursue
With sure success their end.

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