Though still fantastic, frivolous, and vain,
Let not their airs and graces give us pain:
Or fair, or brown, at toilet, prayer, or play,
Their motto speaks their manners,—'Toujours gai.'
But for that powder'd compound of grimace,
That capering he-she thing of fringe and lace;
With sword and cane, with bag and solitaire,
Vain of the full-dress'd dwarf,—his hopeful heir,
How does our spleen and indignation rise,
When such a tinsell'd coxcomb meets our eyes,