Outsides deceive, 'tis hard the truth to know,
Parties from quaint denominations flow,
As Scotch and Irish antiquaries show.
The low are said to rake Fanaticks parts,
The high are bloody Papists in their hearts.
Caution and fear to highest faults have run;
In pleasing both the parties, you please none.
Who in the house affects declaiming airs,
Whales in Change-alley paints: in Fish-street bears.
Some metaphors, some hankerchiefs display,
These peep in hats, while those with buttons play,
And make me think it Repetition day;
There knights haranguing hug a neighb'ring post,
And are but quorum orators at most.
Sooner than thus my want of sense expose,
I'll deck out bandy-legs with gold-clock'd hose,
Or wear a toupet-wig without a nose.
Nay, I would sooner have thy phyz, I swear,
Surintendant des plaisirs d'Angleterre.