Be as well allow'd as _Bien gaunte_; _Cloaths_ is a paltry Word _Ma foy_; But Grandeur in the French _Arroy_. _Trimming_'s damn'd English, but _le Grass_ Is that which must for Modish pass. To call a Shoe a Shoe, is base, Let the genteel _Picards_ take Place. Hang _Perriwig_, 'tis only fit For Barbers Tongues that ne'er spoke Wit; But if you'd be i'th' Fashion, choose The far politer Term, _Chedreux_ What Clown is he that proudly moves, With on his hands what we call Gloves? No Friend, for more refin'd converse Will tell ye they are _Orangers_. So strangely does _Parisian_ Air Change English Youth, that half a year Makes 'em forget all Native Custome, To bring French Modes, and _Gallic_ Lust home; Nothing will these Apostates please, But _Gallic_ Health, and French Disease. In French their Quarrels, and their Fears, Their Joys they publish, and their Cares; In French they quarrel, and in French _Mon coeur,_ they cry, to paltry Wench. Why then should these Extravagants Make such Rhime-doggeril Complaints Against the Ladies Dressing-Rooms, And closets stor'd with rich Perfumes? There's nothing there but what becomes The Plenty of a fair Estate: Tho' Chimney Furniture of Plate, Tho' Mortlake Tapestry, Damask-Bed; Or Velvet all Embroidered; Tho' they affect a handsome store, Of part for State, of usefull more; They're Glories not to be deny'd To Women, stopping there their Pride; For such a Pride has nothing ill, But only makes them more genteel. Should Nature these fine Toys produce, And Women be debarr'd the use? These are no Masculine Delights; Studies of Books for Men are sights; A Stable with good Horses stor'd, And Payment punctual to their Word: Proportion these things to my Wishes, Let Women take the Porcelan Dishes; The Toylet Plates gilt and embost, With all the rest of little cost; Such small Diffusion feeds the Poor, While Misers hoard up all their store. Our Satyr then was one of those Who ne'er had Wealth at his dispose; Or being sped to live in Plenty, Posted to find his Coffers empty; Addicted all to sport and Gaming, And that same Vice not worth the naming; Till deeply dipp'd in Us'rers Books, And over-rid by Cheats and Rooks, The _Mint_ becomes his Sanctuary, Where not of his past Errors weary, But aged grown, and impotent, Alike in Purse and Codpiece spent, He _Cynic_ turns, in _Kings-Bench_ Tub, And vents the Froth of Brewers Bub: Where we will leave him melancholly, Bewailing Poverty, and Folly. A Short _Supplement_ to the _Fop-Dictionary_, so far as concerns the present Matter. _Adieu donce me Cheres._ Farewell my dear Friends. _Arroy._ A Suit of Cloaths. _To adjust a Man's self._ That is, to dress himself.