The looking-glasses got about,
And grew so common thro' the land,
That scarce a tinker could walk out,
Without a mirror in his hand.
Comparing faces, morning, noon,
And night, their constant occupation—
By dint of looking-glasses, soon,
They grew a most reflecting nation.
In vain the Court, aware of errors
In all the old, establisht mazards,
Prohibited the use of mirrors
And tried to break them at all hazards:—
In vain—their laws might just as well
Have been waste paper on the shelves;
That fatal freight had broke the spell;
People had lookt—and knew themselves.
If chance a Duke, of birth sublime,
Presumed upon his ancient face,
(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,)
They popt a mirror to his Grace;—
Just hinting, by that gentle sign,
How little Nature holds it true,
That what is called an ancient line,
Must be the line of Beauty too.
From Dukes' they past to regal phizzes,
Compared them proudly with their own,
And cried. "How could such monstrous quizzes
"In Beauty's name usurp the throne!"—
They then wrote essays, pamphlets, books,
Upon Cosmetical Oeconomy,
Which made the King try various looks,
But none improved his physiognomy.
And satires at the Court were levelled,
And small lampoons, so full of slynesses,
That soon, in short, they quite bedeviled
Their Majesties and Royal Highnesses.
At length—but here I drop the veil,
To spare some royal folks' sensations;—
Besides, what followed is the tale
Of all such late-enlightened nations;