The poetical works of Leigh Hunt Now finally collected, revised by himself, and edited by his son, Thornton Hunt. With illustrations by Corbould |
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VERSES ON A FULL FLOWING PERUKE, BY RICHARD HONEYCOMB, ESQ. |
 | The poetical works of Leigh Hunt |  |
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VERSES ON A FULL FLOWING PERUKE, BY RICHARD HONEYCOMB, ESQ.
1673.
Did ever laurel, famed in story,
Cover a man with so much glory,
Or warrant him to look so big,
As that great modern boast, a wig?
Some Roman ladies wore a front
With hyperbolic friz upon't;
And we are told of Goths and Scythians
With wigs; but their's were short and pithy ones.
None of the ancients, as I see,
Laid claim to our crinosity,
Or took the breath of the beholders
With hairy torrents down the shoulders,
Melting a dozen scalps in one,
Enough to make a lion run.
Cover a man with so much glory,
Or warrant him to look so big,
As that great modern boast, a wig?
Some Roman ladies wore a front
With hyperbolic friz upon't;
And we are told of Goths and Scythians
With wigs; but their's were short and pithy ones.
None of the ancients, as I see,
Laid claim to our crinosity,
Or took the breath of the beholders
With hairy torrents down the shoulders,
Melting a dozen scalps in one,
Enough to make a lion run.
The monarch, whose inglorious look
(Having a natural-born peruke)
Gave rise to this great capillation,
Ill treateth sure his gallant nation,
And takes too many pains by far
In seeking such renown in war,
Picking for 's head superfluous laurels
In shape of Dutch and Spanish quarrels,
When he must know, that he who claps
Two yards of goat's-hair at his chaps,
Succeeds at once to all the rights
And privileges o' the greatest knights,
Reaping such honours from the dead
As never yet invested head,
And may dispense with wit and parts
In vanquishing the ladies' hearts.
To have a little reading, once
Might mark a gallant from a dunce;
Some grammar did not come amiss,
And wit could much exalt a kiss:
But now your man is he who saddles
His head with the great'st hairy straddles,
And all that sep'rates wits from ninnies,
Is, “Did your wig cost fifty guineas?”
(Having a natural-born peruke)
Gave rise to this great capillation,
Ill treateth sure his gallant nation,
And takes too many pains by far
In seeking such renown in war,
Picking for 's head superfluous laurels
In shape of Dutch and Spanish quarrels,
When he must know, that he who claps
Two yards of goat's-hair at his chaps,
Succeeds at once to all the rights
And privileges o' the greatest knights,
Reaping such honours from the dead
As never yet invested head,
And may dispense with wit and parts
In vanquishing the ladies' hearts.
To have a little reading, once
Might mark a gallant from a dunce;
Some grammar did not come amiss,
And wit could much exalt a kiss:
314
His head with the great'st hairy straddles,
And all that sep'rates wits from ninnies,
Is, “Did your wig cost fifty guineas?”
Hail, two-tail'd comet of this age,
Portending bills, and amorous rage!
Hail, brains of beaux turn'd inside out
Tossing your scented froth about,
And turning brisk on the beholders
With copied airs across the shoulders!
Through thee we come at beauty's blushes,
Like Jove through clouds, or Pan through bushes
To thee I owe (besides, I fear,
Some hundreds to my perruquier;)
To thee I owe my Chloe's passion,
Her fears, and fond incarceration;
And more than all, I owe to thee
That Jack Hall's wig has set me free.
Portending bills, and amorous rage!
Hail, brains of beaux turn'd inside out
Tossing your scented froth about,
And turning brisk on the beholders
With copied airs across the shoulders!
Through thee we come at beauty's blushes,
Like Jove through clouds, or Pan through bushes
To thee I owe (besides, I fear,
Some hundreds to my perruquier;)
To thee I owe my Chloe's passion,
Her fears, and fond incarceration;
And more than all, I owe to thee
That Jack Hall's wig has set me free.
| The poetical works of Leigh Hunt | |