Nor is thy flaxen wig with safety worn.
High on the shoulder, in the basket borne,
Lurks the sly boy, whose hand to rapine bred,
Plucks off the curling honours of the head.”
To be brought into actual contact with a powdered beau, was reckoned one of the misadventures which a prudent man would wish to avoid.
“You’ll sometimes meet a fop of nicest tread,
Whose mantling peruke veils his empty head,
At every step he dreads the wall to lose,
And risks, to save a coach, his red-heeled shoes;
Him, like the miller, pass with caution by,