Lord Foppington.
Gentlemen and Ladies,
These People have regal'd you here to-day
(In my Opinion) with a saucy Play;
In which the Author does presume to shew,
That Coxcomb, ab Origine—was Beau.
Truly I think the thing of so much weight, }
That if some sharp Chastisement ben't his Fate, }
Gad's Curse, it may in time destroy the State. }
I hold no one its Friend, I must confess,
Who wou'd discauntenance you Men of Dress.
Far, give me leave t'abserve, good Clothes are Things
Have ever been of great Support to Kings:
All Treasons come fram Slovens; it is nat
Within the reach of Gentle Beaux to plat;
They have no Gall; no Spleen, no Teeth, no Stings,
Of all Gad's Creatures, the most harmless Things.
Thro' all Recard, no Prince was ever slain
By one who had a Feather in his Brain,
They're Men of too refin'd an Education,
To squabble with a Court—for a vile dirty Nation.
I'm very pasitive, you never saw
A tho'ro' Republican a finish'd Beau.
Nor truly shall you very often see
A Jacobite much better drest than he:
In short, thro' all the Courts that I have been in,
Your Men of Mischief—still are in faul Linen.
Did ever one yet dance the Tyburn Jigg,
With a free Air, or a well pawder'd Wig?
Did ever Highway-man yet bid you stand,
With a sweet bawdy Snuff-Box in his Hand?
Ar do you ever find they ask your Purse
As Men of Breeding do?——Ladies, Gad's Curse,
This Author is a Dag, and 'tis not fit
You shou'd allow him e'en one Grain of Wit:
To which, that his Pretence may ne'er be nam'd,
My humble Motion is——he may be damn'd.
[THE]
PROVOK'D WIFE.
A
COMEDY.
