I (can you pardon my presumption?) I—
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.
Various the papers various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use.
Men are as various; and if right I scan,
Each sort of paper represents some man.
Pray note the fop—half powder and half lace—
Nice as a band-box were his dwelling-place:
He’s the gilt paper, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the ’scrutoire.