The Fop

How blest the brainless fop, whose praise
Is doom'd to grace these happy days,
When well-bred vice can genius teach,
And fame is placed in folly's reach;
Impertinence all tastes can hit,
And every rascal is a wit.
The lowest dunce, without despairing,
May learn the true sublime of swearing;
Learn the nice art of jests obscene,
While ladies wonder what they mean;
The heroism of brazen lungs,
The rhetoric of eternal tongues;
While whim usurps the name of spirit,
And impudence takes place of merit,
And every money'd clown and dunce
Commences gentleman at once.
For now, by easy rules of trade,
Mechanic gentlemen are made!
From handicrafts of fashion born;
Those very arts so much their scorn.
To tailors half themselves they owe,
Who make the clothes that make the beau.
Lo! from the seats, where, fops to bless,
Learn'd artists fix the forms of dress,
And sit in consultation grave
On folded skirt, or straiten'd sleeve,
The coxcomb trips with sprightly haste,
In all the flush of modern taste;
Oft turning, if the day be fair,
To view his shadow's graceful air;
Well pleased, with eager eye runs o'er
The laced suit glittering gay before;
The ruffle, where from open'd vest
The rubied brooch adorns the breast;
The coat, with lengthening waist behind,
Whose short skirts dangle in the wind;
The modish hat, whose breadth contains
The measure of its owner's brains;
The stockings gay, with various hues;
The little toe-encircling shoes;
The cane, on whose carved top is shown
A head, just emblem of his own;
While, wrapp'd in self, with lofty stride,
His little heart elate with pride,
He struts in all the joys of show
That tailors give, or beaux can know.
And who for beauty need repine,
That 's sold at every barber's sign;
Nor lies in features or complexion,
But curls disposed in meet direction,
With strong pomatum's grateful odour,
And quantum sufficit of powder?
These charms can shed a sprightly grace
O'er the dull eye and clumsy face;
While the trim dancing-master's art
Shall gestures, trips, and bows impart,
Give the gay piece its final touches,
And lend those airs, would lure a duchess.
Thus shines the form, nor aught behind,
The gifts that deck the coxcomb's mind;
Then hear the daring muse disclose
The sense and piety of beaux.
To grace his speech, let France bestow
A set of compliments for show.
Land of politeness! that affords
The treasure of new-fangled words,
And endless quantities disburses
Of bows and compliments and curses;
The soft address, with airs so sweet,
That cringes at the ladies' feet;
The pert, vivacious, play-house style,
That wakes the gay assembly's smile;
Jests that his brother beaux may hit,
And pass with young coquettes for wit,
And prized by fops of true discerning,
Outface the pedantry of learning.
Yet learning too shall lend its aid
To fill the coxcomb's spongy head;
And studious oft he shall peruse
The labours of the modern muse.
From endless loads of novels gain
Soft, simpering tales of amorous pain,
With double meanings, neat and handy,
From Rochester and Tristram Shandy.
The blundering aid of weak reviews,
That forge the fetters of the muse,
Shall give him airs of criticising
On faults of books, he ne'er set eyes on.
The magazines shall teach the fashion,
And commonplace of conversation,
And where his knowledge fails, afford
The aid of many a sounding word.
Then, lest religion he should need,
Of pious Hume he'll learn his creed,
By strongest demonstration shown,
Evince that nothing can be known;
Take arguments, unvex'd by doubt,
On Voltaire's trust, or go without;
'Gainst Scripture rail in modern lore,
As thousand fools have rail'd before;
Or pleased a nicer art display
To expound its doctrines all away,
Suit it to modern tastes and fashions
By various notes and emendations;
The rules the ten commands contain,
With new provisos well explain;
Prove all religion was but fashion,
Beneath the Jewish dispensation.
A ceremonial law, deep hooded
In types and figures long exploded;
Its stubborn fetters all unfit
For these free times of gospel light,
This rake's millennium, since the day
When Sabbaths first were done away;
Since pander-conscience holds the door,
And lewdness is a vice no more;
And shame, the worst of deadly fiends,
On virtue, as its squire, attends.
Alike his poignant wit displays
The darkness of the former days,
When men the paths of duty sought,
And own'd what revelation taught;
Ere human reason grew so bright,
Men could see all things by its light,
And summon'd Scripture to appear,
And stand before its bar severe,
To clear its page from charge of fiction,
And answer pleas of contradiction;
Ere miracles were held in scorn,
, Or Bolimbroke, or Hume were born.
And now the fop, with great energy,
Levels at priestcraft anu the clergy,
At holy cant and godly prayers,
And bigots' hypocritic airs;
Musters each veteran jest to aiJ,
Calls piety the parson's trade;
Cries out 't is shame, past all abiding,
The world should still be so priest-ridden;
Applauds free thought that scorns control.
And generous nobleness of soul,
That acts its pleasure, good or evil,
And fears nor deity nor devil.
These standing topics never fail
To prompt our little wits to rail,
With mimic drollery of grimace,
And pleased impertinence of face,
'Gainst virtue arm their feeble forces,
And sound the charge in peals of curses.
Blest be his ashes! under ground
If any particles be found,
Who, friendly to the coxcomb race,
First taught those arts of commonplace,
Those topics fine, on which the beau
May all his little wits bestow,
Secure the simple laugh to raise,
And gain the dunce's palm of praise.
For where 's the theme that beaux could hit
With least similitude of wit,
Did not religion and the priest
Supply materials for the jest;
The poor in purse, with metals vile
For current coins, the world beguile;
The poor in brain, for genuine wit
Pass off a viler counterfeit;
While various thus their doom appears,
These lose their souls, and those their ears;
The want of fancy, whim supplies,
And native humour, mad caprice;
Loud noise for argument goes off,
For mirth polite, the ribald's scoff;
For sense, lewd drolleries entertain us,
And wit is mimick'd by profaneness.