;
A laced hat, worsted stockings, and--noble old soul!
A fine ribbon and cross in his best button-hole;
Just such as our PRINCE, who nor reason nor fun dreads,
Inflicts, without even a court-martial, on hundreds.
Here trips a _grisette_, with a fond, roguish eye,
(Rather eatable things these _grisettes_, by the by);
And there an old _demoiselle_, almost as fond,
In a silk that has stood since the time of the Fronde.
There goes a French Dandy--ah, DICK! unlike some ones
We've seen about WHITE'S--the Mounseers are but rum ones;
Such hats!--fit for monkies--I'd back Mrs. DRAPER
To cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper:
And coats--how I wish, if it wouldn't distress 'em,
They'd club for old BRUMMEL, from Calais, to dress 'em!
The collar sticks out from the neck such a space,
That you'd swear 'twas the plan of this head-lopping nation,
To leave there behind them a snug little place
For the head to drop into, on decapitation.
In short, what with mountebanks, counts and friseurs,
_Some_ mummers by trade and the rest amateurs--
What with captains in new jockey-boots and silk breeches,
Old dustmen with swinging great opera-hats,
And shoeblacks, reclining by statues in niches,
There never was seen such a race of Jack Sprats!
From the Boulevards--but hearken!--yes--as I'm a sinner,
The clock is just striking the half-hour to dinner:
So _no_ more at present--short time for adorning--
My Day must be finisht some other fine morning.
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