WITH THE WIG AND WINGS AT HIS HEAD
BY DR. SHERIDAN
You little scribbling beau,
What demon made you write?
Because to write you know
As much as you can fight.
For compliment so scurvy,
I wish we had you here;
We'd turn you topsy-turvy
Into a mug of beer.
You thought to make a farce on
The man and place we chose;
We're sure a single parson
Is worth a hundred beaux.
And you would make us vassals,
Good Mr. Wig and Wings,
To silver clocks and tassels;
You would, you Thing of Things!
Because around your cane
A ring of diamonds is set;
And you, in some by-lane,
Have gain'd a paltry grisette;
Shall we, of sense refined,
Your trifling nonsense bear,
As noisy as the wind,
As empty as the air?
We hate your empty prattle;
And vow and swear 'tis true,
There's more in one child's rattle,
Than twenty fops like you.