Rascals! we tread thee under foot, (Weave we the woof, the thread is spun;) Our beards we pull out by the root; (The web is wove, your work is done.) "Stay, oh, stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me uncurl'd, undinner'd, here to mourn." Thro' the broad gate that leads to College Hall, They melt, they fly, they vanish all. But, oh! what happy scenes of pure delight, Slow moving on their simple charms unroll! Ye rapt'rous visions! spare my aching sight, Ye unborn beauties, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Coventry we wail: All hail, ye genuine forms; fair nature's issue, hail! VIII. Not frizz'd and frittered, pinned and rolled, Sublime their artless locks they wear, And gorgeous dames, and judges old, Without their tetes and wigs appear. In the midst a form divine, Her dress bespeaks the Pennsylvania line; Her port demure, her grave, religious face, Attempered sweet to virgin grace. What sylphs and spirits wanton through the air! What crowds of little angels round her play! Hear from thy sepulchre, great Penn! oh, hear! A scene like this might animate thy clay. Simplicity now soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her Quaker-coloured wings. IX. No more toupees are seen That mock at Alpine height, And queues, with many a yard of riband bound, All now are vanished quite. No tongs or torturing pin, But every head is trimmed quite snug around: Like boys of the cathedral choir, Curls, such as Adam wore, we wear; Each simpler generation blooms more fair, Till all that's artificial expire. Vain puppy boy! think'st thou you essenced cloud, Raised by thy puff, can vie with _Nature's_ hue? To-morrow see the variegated crowd With ringlets shining like the morning dew. Enough for me: with joy I see The different dooms our fates assign; Be thine to love thy trade and starve, To wear what heaven bestowed be mine. He said, and headlong from the trap-stairs' height, Quick thro' the frozen street he ran in shabby plight. [7] Sir John Fielding, the late active police magistrate. [8] Coe's father, the well-known blacksmith and alderman, now no more. Whilst we are discussing the subject of hair, we ought not to forget that, according to Lyson's Environs of London, THE FIRST PRELATE THAT WORE A WIG was Archbishop Tillotson. In the great dining-room of Lambeth Palace, he says, there are portraits of all the Archbishops, from Laud to the present time, in which may be observed the gradual change of the clerical habit, in the article of wigs. Archbishop Tillotson was the first prelate that wore a wig, which then was not unlike the natural hair, and worn without powder. In 1633, 21 James 1st, THE OXFORD SCHOLARS WERE PROHIBITED FROM WEARING BOOTS AND SPURS.