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Appendix
Who in the Dancing-Room attack'd-'em,
And before all the Ladies thwack'd-'em,
The Musick still kept playing on,
Till both were beaten to some tune,
Which makes the Beaus e'er since hate Fidlers,
As bad as Country-Dogs do Pedlers.
This famous Archwag you must know,
Was bred a home-spun Rural Beau;
For Country-Beaus are now as Common,
As Looby-Clowns, or Booby-Yeomen;
He does a good Estate inherit,
Which came by Birth, and not by Merit,
And chiefly when at Home converses,
With Setting-Spaniels, Hounds and Horses,
But when abroad, the time he passes
Away with hare-brain'd Fools and Asses :
His Dress is very Nice and fine,
Yet sits like Saddle on a Swine,
And nothing can delight him more,
Than kicking some Inferiour;
So to his rakish Sports we'll leave him,
Till Time and Age shall undeceive him.
Next these Fop Pout-mouth comes in show,
A flap Chap'd, round Back'd City-Beau,
Who by his Foot-men fights and rattles,
Kept lusty for their Master's battles;
Am'rous he is, but can't attack,
For want of Sense, above a Hack:
He would make Love, but knows not how,
But by his Liv'ry-Coach and Bow,
And thinks to charm the beauteous Sex,
By haughty Struts, and monky Tricks;
But all his Grandure, and his Pride,
Have shot their roving Darts so wide,
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