Fable XV. the Cynic and Fashion

Some think on ev'ry slight pretence, That snarling shows a fund of sense; And therefore shrewdly never fail, Reason, or none, to mouth, and rail; As if the scope of moral thought, Lay all compriz'd in finding fault.

It happen'd so that one of these, A thorough bred DIOGENES; That sprightly damsel FASHION met, And lectur'd thus the gay Coquette.

'Tis true, I know, fantastic madam, Thou foe to all the race of ADAM; Thou thing of nothing, gaudy moppet, No better than a dress'd up puppet; I know thy pow'r, thy matchless pride, That reason has the weaker side, Yet dare I speak my thoughts aloud, Tho' Fancy sways the senseless crowd; And show that all thy flimzy rules, Are cobweb bands to fetter fools.

How dar'st thou, trifler as thou art, Presume to rule the human heart? To captivate the thoughtless eyes, And warp the nobler faculties? Degrading sense, and studious care, With empty taste, and idle air.

Thy proselytes, a coxcomb train, Of outward show alone are vain; Who still to real merit blind, Enslav'd by dress, neglect the mind.

Say what avails thy splendid show, Tho' colours rival IRIS' bow; Tho' jewels from the INDIAN mine, Arrang'd in nicest order shine; Tho' ev'ry quarter of the globe, Should join thy person to enrobe; Thy proper title still must be, The Weathercock of Vanity.

FASHION, with sly and gentle look, Receiv'd this cynical rebuke; Then smiling, shrewdly thus replied, There are more sorts, than one, of Pride; A weed so rank—in every college, It chokes fair science, learning, knowledge. Look inward, surly friend, and see, If such a monster dwells in thee; Let objects in due form arise, And sense obey impartial eyes; While prejudice invades the mind, 'Tis ever obstinate, or blind.

Think you, grave Sir, that wisdom shows With better grace in shapeless cloaths? That Virtue speaks with stronger note, In longer, or in shorter coat? That learning dare not show its face, Beneath a little harmless lace? Must piety upon her back, Still wear a formal robe of black? Can none expire in honour's bed, But martial spirits bound in red? 'Tis all a farce, and none but fools Would judge by such contracted rules.

You've boldly charged me home with treason, Against the sacred power of reason; But wherefore so? all things on earth From some good purpose draw their birth; And rightly manag'd serve to bless; Yet when perverted by excess, Slaves of irrational abuse, They lose their beauty, worth, and use.

Thus I, by prudence first was made, A friend to industry and trade; My purposes will proof endure, I please the rich, to feed the poor; I rule the great with my commands, And set to work unnumber'd hands; From my inconstant temper springs To subjects wealth, and pow'r to kings; Divided between land and sea, Millions derive support from me.

Indeed when mimic folly breaks Discretion's bounds, and wildly takes My shape; I always feel disgrace With painful blushes tinge my face.

To see, forgetting diff'rent spheres, Mechanics boldly apeing peers; To see fine ladies Abigails, Drag silken trains, like Peacocks tails; To see the wife of homely cit, Attempt the stile of courtly wit; To see an ALDERMAN advance, In capers newly brought from FRANCE; To see a flaunting semstress come To figure at a lady's drum; To see a draggled prentice sent With cards of ill-spelt compliment; To see, the sordid slave of vice, A LONDON merchant trade with DICE;

To see all these, and many more, Which life affords in ample store; May raise your censure, or compassion, But call them MADNESS, friend, not FASHION.