"Would you a modern beau commence,
Shake off that foe to pleasure, sense;
Be trifling, talkative, and vain;
Of ev'ry absent friend complain.
Their worth contemn, their faults deride,
With all the insolence of pride.
Scorn real unaffected worth,
That claims no ancestry by birth:
Despise the virtuous, good, and brave,
To ev'ry passion be a slave.
Let not sincerity molest,
Or discompose your tranquil breast;
Barter discretion, wit, and ease,
As idle things, that seldom please
The young and gay, who laugh and wink
At senseless drones who read and think;
Who all the fleeting hours count o'er,
And wish the four-and-twenty more;
Furnish'd with volumes in their head,
Above all fire, below all lead.
Be it your passion, joy, and fame,
To play at ev'ry modish game,
Fondly to flatter and caress;
A critick styl'd in point of dress;
Harangue on fashions, point, and lace,
On this one's errors, t'other's face;
Talk much of Italy and France,
Of a new song and country-dance;
Be vers'd in politicks and news;
All Statesmen, Ministers, abuse;
Set public places in a blaze:
Loudly exclaim 'gainst Shakspeare's Plays;
Despise such low insipid strains,
Fitted for philosophic brains:
But modern Tragedies extol,
As kindling rapture in the soul.
Affect to know each reigning belle,
That throngs the Playhouse or the Mell,
Declare you're intimate with all
You once have met with at a ball;
At ev'ry female boldly stare,
And crowd the circles of the fair.
Tho' swearing you detest a fool,
Be vers'd in Folly's ample school:
Learn all her various schemes, her arts,
To shew your merit, wit, and parts.
These rules observ'd, each foppish elf
May view an emblem of himself."
_London Chronicle._