Beau Brummell's bow had not the grace, Alvanly stood eclipsed in face, The _Roues_ all were mute, So exquisite, so chaste, unique, The mark for every Leg and Greek, Who play the concave suit.{26} At Almack's, paradise o' the West, Tom's hand by prince and peer is press'd, And fashion cries supreme. His Op'ra box, and little quean, To lounge, to see, and to be seen, Makes life a pleasant dream. Such dreams, alas! are transient light, A glow of brightness and delight, That wakes to years of pain. Tom's round of pleasure soon was o'er, And clam'rous _duns_ assail the door When credit's on the wane. His riches pay his folly's price, And vanish soon a sacrifice, Then friendly comrades fly; His ev'ry foible dragg'd to light, And faults (unheeded) crowd in sight, Asham'd to show his face. Beset by tradesmen, lawyers, _bums_,{21} He sinks where fashion never comes, A wealthier takes his place. _Beat at all points, floor'd, and clean'd out_, Tom yet resolv'd to brave it out, 36 Cards cut in a peculiar manner, to enable the Leg to fleece his Pigeon securely. 27 "Persons employed by the sheriff to hunt and seize human prey: they are always bound in sureties for the due execution of their office, and thence are called _Bound Bailiff's_, which the common people have corrupted into a much more homely ex-pression--_to wit, Bum-Bailiffs or Bums_."--l _Black Com_. 346. ~239~~