Where he the foplings busy spied
Effacing ev’ry mark of man:
Thinking to win the softer sex
By making themselves softer still.
“Ah!” says our Goat, “ah! ah! I’feggs,
I’ll be in fashion, that I will!”
He seats himself, the Ape’s not slow,
But tucks the cloth in, and then lathers;
When lo! stalk’d by a goodly row,
A solemn train of old Church Fathers!