Hair comb'd with art, as sleek as mouse does lie ;
Pomatum fumes, sweet-scented round them fly.
The plaister'd pyramid aloft doth rear,
And powder'd wings, expanded, fly in air !
A load of hair hangs tumbling on the back,
Which vaunts in size with muckle Sawny's pack.
Would you not laugh to see these frightful heads,
Beneath blue bonnets, and o'er chequer'd plaids ?
Then why the loons should lengthen their long jaws
With French toupees, nae Scot, nae Sootheron knaws !
Children unborn such portaits will surprize ;
They'll lift their hands, and turn away their eyes !
Think their old dads deep learn'd in monkey tricks,
But sucking babes in all their politics.
Yet let it none but macaronies stain,
Who liv'd in George the third's mad fluctuating reign.