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The Taylor in Triumph, or Beau Stitch's Speech to his Brethren, entring his Chariot for the Country.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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The Taylor in Triumph, or Beau Stitch's Speech to his Brethren, entring his Chariot for the Country.

Whilst I my Chariot mount in solemn Pride,
Trudge you on Foot, or on your Ell-wands ride.
I have the Face and Fashions of a Duke,
All Taylors else like Corn-cutters look.
Did e'er Scots Taylor such a Grandeur reach?
You lousy Lowns, bow low to brave Beau Stitch.
Call here a Painter, he must draw me fine,
Sitting within my Chariot on my Sign.
My Page, who's well rewarded for his Pains,
Bareheaded guides the Horses by the Reins.
The Sun will blush, and be asham'd to see
A Taylor drive in greater State than he.
I go to court a Lady in the South,
Each Day I'll dance, each Minute kiss her Mouth.
O! I will talk with a Parisian Grace,
To see the Ladies laughing in my Face.
I'll fight my Rivals, they'll my Fury feel,
And tie them Captives to my Chariot-wheel.

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This long embroider'd Robe I wear thro' Care,
To ballance me from flying in the Air.
Thro' Vanity I scarce can keep the Ground,
My Head's too giddy for so loud a Wind.