Who by their free yet awful Mein,
Disclose the Vertues lodg'd within;
Which stiffle ev'ry vain desire,
In those who do their Charms admire,
That none dare wish above a Kiss,
Or think of any further Bliss;
So God-like do they move the Sence,
To Vertuous Love and Reverence.
Fall, Muse, from thy ambitious flight,
Hover no more round Beauty's Light,
Lest its bright flame thy Wings should scorch,
Like Bats that sport about a Torch :
Awake, no longer must thou dream
On Beauty, that delightful Theme;
But must from thence descend so low,
As to depict a Tunbridge Beau.
Those self-admiring Fops that hate,
All that is Generous, Good or Great;
Those Pole-cats sweeten'd by Perfumes,
Those Owls disguis'd in Peacock's plumes,
Whom Nature angry brought to Light,
Not to her Power show, but Spight.
The first of these is dubb'd a Sir, And bears the following Character, Both Rake and Clown quite void of Sence, At Nine-pins lies his Excellence; He out-bowls most that use the Place, And Tips All-Nine with such a grace, No Smith, or Porter, you can send-him, Dare at this noble Game contend-him, At Trap-ball too he plays most finely, And Handles Cat-stick so devinely, The Ladies all admire him for't, 292