The Fop

Communicated by Miss Beslee

At Bletchington there lived a wight
 Surnamed the Man of Path
As thin as famed La Mancha’s knight
 As tall as him of Gath
’Tis said the thing was six feet, ten
 In height from top to toe
And it was of the class of men
 By others called a beau
It had (’tis said) a tongue to talk
 A mouth with which to grin
On two hind paws it used to walk
 With legs so long and thin
The gods had given two paws more
 With which (tho’ strange ’tis true)
Since beaux have ceased to walk on four
 It knew not what to do
So one hung dangling at his side
 Bedecked with whip or cane
And t’other always was employ’d
 In twirling its watch chain
Whene’er the female train appeared
 The creature was on duty
And whispered soft things in their ears
 About true Love and Beauty
Each word as soft as Butter flows
 And sweet as honey too
And quite as harmless heaven well knows
 As three times skimm’d sky blue
To all alike it told its tales
 And followed Stanhope’s rules
Who bids us when our small talk fails
 To sit and grin (like fools)
It various Novels reads full oft
 And many a tuneful lay
From silence it steals its speeches soft
 And compliments so gay
And when it wishes most to shine
 ’Twill sit at home and write
A thousand speeches superfine
 To spark away at Night
Once at a rout it chanced to take
 Its speeches from its Poke
And found a Set Oh! dire mistake
 Which it before had spoke
The dire mistake the Ladies rue
 For not one tale it told
It could not think of one thing new
 And these were all too old
And so alas poor luckless wight
 Alack and well aday
It sat in silence all the night
 And grinn’d the hours away.