| Share page |
|
Appendix |
||
|
All things put on with so much neatness, He's the Sum-Total of Compleatness; So Formal that he cou'd not blame-one, To think him drest by Madam Sa'mon, And treads so stiff, you'd say the Creature, By Clock-work mov'd, and not by Nature. With rich black Acres he's well stor'd, And lives as great as any Lord, For him the Pauper-Beaus oft Bully, And they as oft make him their Cully.
Beau Humpty-dumpty next appears, A merry Lump well grown in Years, With Back and Breast like Punchanello^ But for his parts has not his fellow; This is a Crumpling of some Title, A Barronet, and thing of Mettle; But only does himself degrade, When Honour's Tax is to be paid, And then too wisely saves his Purse, He's no more Barr'net than a Horse, Tho' most, two Titles do afford him, Not only Sir-him, but my Lord-him. |
||
|
Finis. |
||