“Strange is the power of snuff, whose pungent grains
Can make fops speak, and furnish beaux with brains;
Nor care of cleanliness, nor love of dress,
Can save their clothes from brick-dust nastiness.
Some think the part too small of modish sand
Which at a niggard pinch they can command;
Nor can their fingers for that task suffice,
Their nose too greedy, not their hands too nice;
To such a height with these is fashion grown,
They feed their very nostrils with a spoon.