| |
| ’TIS certain, that the modish passions | |
| Descend among the crowd, like fashions. | |
| Excuse me, then, if pride, conceit, | |
| (The manners of the fair and great) | |
| I give to monkeys, asses, dogs, | 5 |
| Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs. | |
| I say that these are proud. What then? | |
| I never said they equal men! | |
| A Goat (as vain as Goat can be) | |
| Affected singularity. | 10 |
| Whene’er a thymy bank he found, | |
| He roll’d upon the fragrant ground, | |
| And then with fond attention stood, | |
| Fix’d o’er his image in the flood. | |
| ‘I hate my frowsy beard,’ he cries, | 15 |
| ‘My youth is lost in this disguise. | |
| Did not the females know my vigour, | |
| Well might they loath this rev’rend figure.’ | |
| Resolved to smooth his shaggy face | |
| He sought the barber of the place | 20 |
| A flippant monkey, spruce and smart, | |
| Hard by, profess’d the dapper art: | |
| His pole, with pewter basins hung, | |
| Black rotten teeth in order hung, | |
| Ranged cups, that in the window stood, | 25 |
| Lined with red rags to look like blood, | |
| Did well his threefold trade explain, | |
| Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein. | |
| The Goat he welcomes with an air, | |
| And seats him in his wooden chair: | 30 |
| Mouth, nose, and cheek, the lather hides; | |
| Light, smooth, and swift, the razor glides. | |
| ‘I hope your custom, Sir,’ says Pug; | |
| ‘Sure never face was half so smug.’ | |
| The Goat, impatient for applause, | 35 |
| Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws; | |
| The shaggy people grinn’d and stared. | |
| ‘Heighday! what’s here? without a beard! | |
| Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace? | |
| What envious hand hath robb’d your face?’ | 40 |
| When thus the fop with smiles of scorn: | |
| ‘Are beards by civil nations worn? | |
| Even Muscovites have mowed their chins. | |
| Shall we, like formal Capuchins, | |
| Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, | 45 |
| Which bear about the hairy load? | |
| Whene’er we through the village stray, | |
| Are we not mocked along the way, | |
| Insulted with loud shouts of scorn, | |
| By boys our beards disgraced and torn?’ | 50 |
| ‘Were you no more with goats to dwell, | |
| Brother, I grant you reason well,’ | |
| Replies a bearded chief. Beside | |
| If boys can mortify thy pride, | |
| How wilt thou stand the ridicule | 55 |
| Of our whole flock? affected fool! | |
| Coxcombs, distinguished from the rest, | |
| To all but coxcombs are a jest.’ | |
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