Ladies and gentlemen I'm a beau

Ladies and gentlemen I'm a beau,
A beau I have been all my life,
And yet may the devil fetch me if I know
How I, whose whole trade is
To tickle up the ladies,
Have never yet got me a wife.
I started in life 'bout the year sixty-two,
My small clothes were scarlet, my stockings were blue,
My shoes were half-boots, pudding sleeves too I wore,
My hat in the true pistol cock, and the more
O'er the fair to prevail,
I sported a fine ramilie for a cue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail?

Fashion thus yields to fashion, as night yields to day,
The huge hat that was cock'd with an air
Soon was kick'd out of doors, of the smart Nivernois
The charm'd world sung the praises,
The belles put on jazies,
And the beaux sported now their own hair.
By that time it came to the year seventy-two
The fashions a mixture of old were and new;
Your hair like a bushel might look, or a wig,
Or nine hairs of a side, with the tail of a pig,
For me o'er the fair to prevail,
I had seven yards of ribbon to make me a queue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail?

Again with the varying modes did I jump,
Of fashion I gave the grand pas;
My coat hung to my heels, or was tuck'd to my rump,
In all circles shoving,
A beau, or a sloven,
With a slouch, or a chapeau de bras:
Thus I sported my figure about eighty-two,
Drove a two-story gig, that four poney rats drew,
Wore a coat with seven capes, thirteen waistcoats in one,
And, that I might ne'er be in folly outdone,
With the fair to prevail,
A large porter's knot would have scarce held my queue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail?

Thus in all sorts of modish assemblies the first
Have my purse, health, and spirits been hack'd,
But the polish worn off, nothing left but the rust,
I of fashion's strange stages,
Like Shakespear's seven ages,
Play the farce, though I'm in the last act.
Arrived to the year of our Lord ninety-two,
I dress, and I coax, and I flirt, but 'twont do;
At a hundred and one I should still be a fop,
But done up, and nick named by the world the grey crop,
Can I hope to prevail,
To play gallantry's part I have now lost my cue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail.