The Man of Taste

To Bononcini's musick I adhere:
Musick has charms to sooth a savage beast,
And therefore proper at a Sheriff's feast.
My soul has oft a secret pleasure found,
In the harmonious Bagpipe's lofty sound.
Bagpipes for men, shrill German-flutes for boys,
I'm English born, and love a grumbling noise.
The Stage should yield the solemn Organ's note,
And Scripture tremble in the Eunuch's throat.
Let Senesino sing, what David writ,
And Hallelujahs charm the pious pit.
Eager in throngs the town to Hester came,
And Oratorio was a lucky name.
Thou, Heeideggre! the English taste has found,
And rul'st the mob of quality with sound.
In Lent, if Masquerades displease the town,
Call 'em Ridotto's, and they still go down:
Go on, Prince Phyz! to please the British nation,
Call thy next Masquerade a Convocation.
Bears, Lyons, Wolves, and Elephants I breed,
And Philosophical Transactions read.
Next Lodge I'll be Free-Mason, nothing less,
Unless I happen to be F.R.S.
I have a Palate, and (as yet) two Ears,
Fit company for Porters, or for Peers.
Of ev'ry useful knowledge I've a share,
But my top talent is a bill of fare.
Sir Loins and rumps of beef offend my eyes,
Pleas'd with frogs fricasseed, and coxcomb-pies.
Dishes I chuse though little, yet genteel,
Snails the first course, and Peepers crown the meal.
Pigs heads with hair on, much my fancy please,
I love young colly-flow'rs if stew'd in cheese,
And give ten guineas for a pint of peas.
No tatling servants to my table come,
My Grace is Silence, and my waiter Dumb.
Queer Country-puts extol Queen Bess's reign,
And of lost hospitality complain.
Say thou that do'st thy father's table praise,
Was there Mahogena in former days?
Oh! could a British Barony be sold!
I would bright honour buy with dazling gold.
Could I the privilege of Peer procure,
The rich I'd bully, and oppress the poor.
To give is wrong, but it is wronger still,
On any terms to pay a tradesman's bill.
I'd make the insolent Mechanicks stay,
And keep my ready money all for play.
I'd try if any pleasure could be found,
In tossing-up for twenty thousand pound.
Had I whole Counties, I to White's would go,
And set lands, woods, and rivers, at a throw.
But should I meet with an unlucky run,
And at a throw be gloriously undone;
My debts of honour I'd discharge the first,
Let all my lawful creditors be curst:
My Title would preserve me from arrest,
And seising hired horses is a jest.
I'd walk the mornings with an oaken stick,
With gloves and hat, like my own footman, Dick.
A footman I wou'd be, in outward show,
In sense, and education, truly so.
As for my head, it should ambiguous wear
At once a periwig, and its own hair.
My hair I'd powder in the women's way,
And dress, and talk of dressing, more than they.
I'll please the maids of honour, if I can;
Without black-velvet-britches, what is man?
I will my skill in button-holes display,
And brag how oft I shift me ev'ry day.
Shall I wear cloaths, in awkward England made?
And sweat in cloth, to help the woollen trade?
In French embroid'ry and in Flanders lace
I'll spend the income of a treasurer's place.
Deard's bill for baubles shall to thousands mount,
And I'd out-di'mond ev'n the Di'mond Count.
I would convince the world by taudry cloa's,
That Belles are less effeminate than beaux,
And Doctor Lamb should pare my Lordship's toes.
To boon companions I my time would give,
With players, pimps, and parasites I'd live.
I would with Jockeys from Newmarket dine,
And to Rough-riders give my choicest wine.
I would caress some Stableman of note,
And imitate his language, and his coat.
My ev'nings all I would with sharpers spend,
And make the Thief-catcher my bosom friend.
In Fig the Prize-fighter by day delight,
And sup with Colly Cibber ev'ry night.
Should I perchance be fashionably ill,
I'd send for Misaubin, and take his pill.
I should abhor, though in the utmost need,
Arbuthnot, Hollins, Wigan, Lee, or Mead:
But if I found that I grew worse and worse,
I'd turn off Misaubin and take a Nurse.
How oft, when eminent physicians fail,
Do good old womens remedies prevail?
When beauty's gone, and Chloe's struck with years,
Eyes she can couch, or she can syringe ears.
Of Graduates I dislike the learned rout,