The tunic dazzling with its golden pride,
The button-hole gay-wrought with wondrous art,
The mode-cut collar, and well-fancied sleeve,
Had oft proclaim'd his taste. Yet not to this
Was his great soul confin'd. Theatra now,
Dramatic goddess, whispers in his ear,
And bids him shine away in Foppington.
Where's now that stately flatness of the gait?
That easy stiffness where? so often seen
In thee, O Cibber! and so oft admir'd,