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True fops help nature's work, and go to school,
like a snow-ball
grows. His various modes from various fathers follow; One taught the tofs, and one the new French wallow: His sword-knot this, his cravat that design'd; And this, the yard-long snake he twirls behind. From one the sacred periwig he gain’d, Which wind ne'er blew, nor touch of hat prophan'd. Another's diving bow he did adore, Which with a Thog casts all the hair before, Till he with full decorum brings it back, And rises with a water-spaniel shake. As for his songs, the ladies dear delight, These sure he took from most of you who write. Yet ev'ry man is safe from what he fear’d; For no one fool is hunted from the herd.
E P. I LOG GUE
MITHRIDATES, King of Pontus,
By Mr. N. LEE, 1678.
OU'VE seen a pair of faithful lovers die :
will cry, 'Twas a just judgment on their constancy. For, heaven be thank’d, we live in such an age, When no man dies for love, but on the stage ; And e'en those martyrs are but rare in plays; A cursed sign how much true faith decays. Love is no more a violent desire; 'Tis a meer metaphor, a painted fire, In all our sex, the name examin'd well, 'Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell. In woman, 'tis of subtle int'reft made : Curse on the punk that made it first a trade! She first did wit's prerogative remove, And made a fool presume to prate of love. Let honor and preferment go for gold; But glorious beauty is not to be fold;
Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high,
Eaven save ye, gallants, and this hopeful age;
Y’are welcome to the downfal of the stage: The fools have labor'd long in their vocation And vice, the manufacture of the nation, O’erstocks the town so much, and thrives so well, That fops and knaves grow drugs, and will not sell. In vain our wares on theatres are shown, When each has a plantation of his own.
His cause ne'er fails ; for whatsoe'er he spends,
will have, and rais’d at vast expence; And
yet, as soon as seen, they give offence. Time was, when none would cry,That oaf was me; But now you strive about your pedigree. Bauble and cap no sooner are thrown down, But there's a muss of more than half the town. Each one will challenge a child's part at least; A sign the family is well increast. Of foreign cattle there's no longer need, When we're fupply'd so fast with English breed. Well! flourish, countrymen, drink,swear, and roar; Let ev'ry free-born subject keep his whore, And wand'ring in the wilderness about, At end of forty years not wear her out. But when you see these pictures, let none dare To own beyond a limb or fingle share: For where the punk is common, he's a lot, Who needs will father what the parish got.
Lives not to please himself, but other men ;
P R o L o GUE CÆ S A R BORG A.'
[By Mr. N. LEE, 1680.] H’unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen,
Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood,
come not here, or, as you grace