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Long since, e're Vice was Epidemick grown,
And Chaste Mankind grew Bald with Age alone;
When Wigs were us'd, not for the modern End,
To hide Mens Failings, but their Heads defend:
A Knight, whose Crown devouring Time, and Care,
Had spoil'd of all its ornamental Hair;
With borrow'd Locks the pressing Want supply'd,
And gain'd, from Art, what Nature had deny'd.
But as he walk'd the Street, a ruffling Wind,
Rude to his Person, to his Age unkind;
The loose False-Head into the Gutter blew,
And left his naked Pate expos'd to View.
The Knight, too Wise to be disturb'd, express'd
But light Concern, and pass'd it with a Jest:

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Well may another's Hair, said he, be gone,
Since I cou'd find no means to keep my own.