A Fable, Related by a Beau to Æsop

A Band, a Bob-wig, and a Feather,
Attack'd a lady's heart together.
The Band, in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy.
Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take, instead
Of vigorous youth,
Old solemn truth.
With books and morals, into bed.
How happy she would be.
The Bob, he talked of management,
What wondrous blessings heaven sent
On care, and pains, and industry:
And truly he must be so free
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powder'd wigs, and dancing shoes,
Were good for nothing (mend his soul!)
But prate, and talk, and play the fool.
He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth.
And that to be the dearest wife
Of one, who labour'd all his life
To make a mine of gold his own,
And not spend sixpence when he'd done.
Was heaven upon earth.
When these two blades had done, d'ye see.
The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out, sir, from behind the screen,
With such an air and such a mien—
"Look you, old gentleman,"—in short,
He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport.
It proved such sunshine weather.
That you must know, at the first beck
The lady leapt about his neck.
And off they went together!