Foppery Quotes

A fop? In this brave, licentious age
To bring his musty morals on the stage?
Rhime us more

A fop? In this brave, licentious age
To bring his musty morals on the stage?
Rhime us to reason? and our lives redress
In metre, as Druids did the savages.

Has death his fopperies?

Has death his fopperies?

A lofty cane, a sword with silver hilt,
A ring, two watches, and a snuff box gilt.

A lofty cane, a sword with silver hilt,
A ring, two watches, and a snuff box gilt.

'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As fopplings grin to show their teeth are white.

'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As fopplings grin to show their teeth are white.

I marched the lobby, twirled my stick,
. . . .
The girls all cried, "He's quite more

I marched the lobby, twirled my stick,
. . . .
The girls all cried, "He's quite the kick."

Of all the fools that pride can boast,
A Coxcomb claims distinction most.

Of all the fools that pride can boast,
A Coxcomb claims distinction most.

A beau is one who arranges his curled locks gracefully, who ever
smells of balm, and cinnamon; who hums more

A beau is one who arranges his curled locks gracefully, who ever
smells of balm, and cinnamon; who hums the songs of the Nile, and
Cadiz; who throws his sleek arms into various attitudes; who
idles away the whole day among the chair of the ladies, and is
ever whispering into some one's ear; who reads little billets-
doux from this quarter and that, and writes them in return; who
avoids ruffling his dress by contact with his neighbour's sleeve,
who knows with whom everybody is in love; who flutters from feast
to feast, who can recount exactly the pedigree of Hirpinus. What
do you tell me? is this a beau, Cotilus? Then a beau, Cotilus,
is a very trifling thing.

Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.

Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick
in fortune, often the surfeits of more

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick
in fortune, often the surfeits of our own behavior, we make
guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars; as if we
were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves,
thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance; drunkards,
liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary
influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on.
An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish
disposition on the charge of a star.