Their cobwebs round the throne;
Where note-takers contrive to catch
No meaning but their own;
Viewing the Regent’s well-plum’d head,
Some time I stood, then whisp’ring said,
As much I marvell’d at his hat—
How true to Nature is his wig;
What beaux, what triflers are the big!
What Dandies are the fat!
The Treasury tribe is on the wing,