 | Miscellaneous Work in Verse and Prose |  |
107
The LIFE of a BEAU. A Song.
How brim-full of Nothing's the Life of a Beau?
They've nothing to think of, they've nothing to do;
Nor they've nothing to talk of, for—nothing they know:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
They've nothing to think of, they've nothing to do;
Nor they've nothing to talk of, for—nothing they know:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
For nothing they rise, but to draw the fresh Air;
Spend the Morning in nothing but curling their Hair;
And do nothing all Day but Sing, Santer and Stare:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
Spend the Morning in nothing but curling their Hair;
And do nothing all Day but Sing, Santer and Stare:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
For nothing at Night to the Playhouse they croud,
For to mind nothing done there they always are proud,
But to bow, and to grin, and talk—nothing aloud:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
For to mind nothing done there they always are proud,
But to bow, and to grin, and talk—nothing aloud:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
For nothing they run to th' Assembly and Ball;
And for nothing at Cards a fair Partner call,
For they still must be beasted who've—Nothing at all:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
And for nothing at Cards a fair Partner call,
For they still must be beasted who've—Nothing at all:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
For nothing on Sundays at Church they appear,
For they've nothing to hope, nor they've nothing to fear;
They can be nothing no where, who—nothing are here:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
For they've nothing to hope, nor they've nothing to fear;
They can be nothing no where, who—nothing are here:
Such, such is the Life of a Beau.
| Miscellaneous Work in Verse and Prose | |